Momentary Delusions
by abdola
Summary: AU: Tōshirō has been living a delusion. Maybe, this once, he won't be.
1. Chapter 1

_**HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALOE- *brick'd***_

_**Yup, as promised here is your complementary FanFiction ^^**_

_**This is gonna be based in America, simply to make some things a little easier, but everyone speaks Japanese and has Japanese names. Okay? Yeah, that makes no sense XD**_

_**This is going to be somewhat farfetched and overly sentimental in places but… meh. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT! :D**_

_**SOME WARNINGS! This story contains drugs, child abuse, rape, drug abuse and of course some well loved smut. This is a fiction that is sort of based on a novel I plan on writing one day (the plot is totally different though). I thought it might be fun to practise writing something of the sort. Also, we both know that nothing is complete without having Tōshirō in pain ;)**_

_**Sadly this chapter does not contain any smut but PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! IT'S A LONG STORY! *cowers***_

_**PS. I advise listening to the second song Tōshirō mentions. I wrote this to that so it'll capture the mood :)**_

_**PSS. The title is unoriginally taken from this quotation I like. I like quotations. Lots of them. Most of my titles will be based on quotations now.**_

_**Now onto the actual story XD**_

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><p><em><strong>Momentary Delusion<strong>_

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><p><em>-TŌSHIRŌ-<em>

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><p><em>We're born alone, we live alone; we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the delusion for the moment that we're not alone.<em>

_-Orson Welles_

It's quite probable that I might not have been standing outside of some small coffee shop called _Benihime_, pacing up and down like a lost puppy and shaking the water droplets out of my soaked hair had I not met one particularly alluring strawberry in the months before. It was quite an embarrassing story as to how I got here, moping around like a drowned rat and grousing to myself and plotting how I was going to squish said strawberry when I next laid eyes on him. There was no mature reason as to why I grumbled to myself in the rain when there was a perfectly sheltered alcove by the café door where I could have sought refuge from the torrent; I simply thought that my tirade would look somewhat more impressive if I was soaking wet.

You see; I had been stood up.

Now I wouldn't really refer to it as being 'stood up' because I still had faith that the berry would eventually arrive, grovelling on his hands and knees; throwing me some contrite explanation as to why he was a good hour or two late - but 'stood up' was a phrase that might give me somewhat more leverage when I yelled at him for leaving me out in the rain. It did occur to me that I might appear slightly needy if I waited for two hours in such a heavy shower for a guy who didn't seem to plan on showing up, but I knew the strawberry. He was _going _to show up, whether he liked it or not.

So I continued the pace on the asphalt by _Benihime_, grunting and cursing about the man who had half stood me up. Something about griping in a heavy torrent made the whole action seem a lot more intense, like it held a lot more meaning than it actually did. My hair was plastered to my forehead, water dripping down onto my nose and then onto the floor. I pushed the tresses out of my eyes but the heavy rain and gravity only dictated that they would slide back into place. I hugged my torso with numb fingers and shaking arms. My jacket was leather, a material I was glad held some kind of waterproofing qualities seeing as the rest of me felt like I was underwater. Still, in icy temperatures such as this it didn't do much to deter the cold weather. I'd lost all feeling in my toes from striding through too many puddles, most of which were a few inches deeper than I had expected which caused me to stumble and splash myself with yet more water. I looked a sorry sight, and I didn't need the concerned and bemused glances of passers-by to tell me that.

With my trainers completely soaked, it didn't seem unreasonable for me to kick a puddle in my frustration - so I did just that, grunting in annoyance and spraying an elderly couple in the process. The woman shrunk back from me with a horrified yelp and lowered her oversized umbrella so that the man was no longer sheltered from the elements. He let out a much lower gasp of shock then dived back for the woman and the umbrella and scrambled to stand the two upright again. They both hurried away, huddling close to one another whilst probably grumbling about the younger generation and how we were the new delinquents of the twenty-first century. Had I been in a better mood, I might have apologised and offered the lady a hand to try and keep her balance again. Unfortunately, I had been stood up. So I kicked puddles again, cursing quite loudly and causing people to move to the other side of the path and cover their children's ears. It was their fault; who their right mind would be walking around town in such weather as this?

Me: that's who.

With a heavy, defeated sigh I gave up splashing around in the rain and stalked over to the alcove where a conveniently placed step was positioned, so I sat down on it; not really caring if my being there blocked people's entrance or exit. I rested a frozen cheek on a frozen fist and wriggled my equally frozen toes to try and regain some feeling in them, which was a difficult task seeing as I couldn't feel them in the first place but I succeeded in finally being able to feel the sting of the imminent frostbite - so ultimately it was a pointless exercise that left me in more pain than I'd started with. At least it left me with something else to whine to him about.

The door behind me opened with a rather trite little ring from a bell atop the frame, so I leaned to the wall reluctantly to allow passage of a small family. The father walked out first, ducking his head down and pulling the hood of an incredibly neon coloured waterproof jacket over his head. He looked like a duck in that banana coloured coat and the hunching of the wife's shoulder's told me that she was all too aware of that. As she tottered past in her unnaturally high heeled stilettos, she struggled to pull open an umbrella with one hand; seeing as the other one was currently occupied by a swinging child. He looked no less than three years old, yet he still chewed and drooled on his fist and had a thick trail of snot dribbling down to his upper lip. Overall, it looked disgusting and I wasn't sure why anyone would want one. He stared at me with bright eyes, tilting his head to the side for a moment and drooling a little more. I curled my lip and looked at a spot of dirt on the wall. _That _was cute compared to the kid. He whined in protest at the averting of my gaze, but the wails were quickly suppressed by the woman telling him to shut up. Her voice was nasal and brittle; heavily accented. They were probably tourists. What tourist would come here?

When they disappeared, their annoying chatter fading into the sound of raindrops pelting the tarmac like bomb shells, I allowed myself to relax and rest my head against the white-washed bricks. I could grumble and groan about the rain as much as I wanted, but I couldn't deny the fact that I absolutely loved it. It was definitely not the frostbite or the brain-freeze that I was cursed with when a particularly cold bout hit the town of Karakura, but I liked the sentiment behind it. I could be sappy and say that it drowned out my thoughts, cleansed the polluted land; washed away all my sins which, by God, I needed _something_ to do just that. Maybe putting it into words wasn't going to describe just how I felt about rain. It's kind of sad, kind of melancholic; it makes me want to cry yet sing out my eulogies all at the same time. People always say that rainy days are filled with sadness and gloom… but the light in a stormy evening is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful. I don't know how you could see otherwise. It was the kind of light that made one want to lie under the sky and feel the light patter of water hitting your face.

Sometimes I did this. My parent's house, although lacking in interior space, had a large garden that was on a slight decline. It wasn't totally uncommon for me to lay back with my arms behind my head, sticking my tongue out to taste the sweet flavour of rain. In fact, it was quite a frequent occurrence when the rain was heavy and the mood was right. This act was generally accompanied by some kind of music. I had two songs that I listened to in the rain. The first was the aptly named '_Rain', _by '_Zangetsu'_: a middle aged man who was dark of face with shoulder-length, raven hair and a set of bright orange goggles that he used as a cover for his eyes. He'd only made one song, as far as I could tell, and that piece was an instrumental, but that didn't make him any less of a sensation. The man was quite endearing to the adolescents for some reason unknown to those who weren't quite as youthful themselves. I may have been a boy but I could see that his gruff and shabby face were, undoubtedly, somewhat charming.

The second song was one I saved for much lighter occasions. '_Rain' _was a song that played off my emotions, feeding on my anger or happiness and warping it into something stronger. '_Electric Daisy Violin', _whilst somewhat of a prettier title, never failed to bring me into a certain mood. What that mood was called exactly was a mystery to me, but it felt great when I was angry. Made me smile like something was ironic. It was the type of mood that would make me involuntarily run my hands through my hair and play with the tresses between my fingers. I'm not sure what possessed me to do something like that but it sent a shiver down my spine that, accompanied with the cold from the weather, left me feeling the perfect temperature - that point where you border on cold and chilled, where your face begins to prickle at the cold.

It was the temperature and emotion that I needed right now.

I dug into my pocket and rooted around for a bit. My hand eventually reached an iPod classic that was half grey and half red from the paint scratching off. I'd found it in a charity shop being sold for £30, and after being assured that it worked fine I forked over what little money I owned for the thing. I didn't regret not eating that weekend.

Scrolling through the list of songs to find the one I wanted wasn't a difficult task, seeing as I could only afford a couple of songs and I'd only held fondness for three of the ten that had been left on the playlist when I bought it. Trust my parents… they would happily let me use the computer in order to buy the music but they most certainly would not give me a measly 50p so that I actually could actually purchase it, nor was I allowed to download it illegally. I got the feeling that they weren't exactly proud of me. Not that I could blame them; I wouldn't be.

After a few laps of the touch-pad that controlled the music player, I finally saw the words '_Electric Daisy Violin - Lindsey Stirling' _light up the screen. A smile tugged at my mouth when I thought of how I might look, slumped against a coffee shop door with a Cheshire grin, combing my hair with my fingers. People probably would think something was wrong with me. But I didn't care, so I proceeded to carefully put the earphones in (as not to break them, which I heard happened all too easily) and press the play button. A wonderfully familiar symphony flooded my senses and I instantly leaned back into the door and let that cheesy grin spread across my face. The sound of an electric violin might not be one many considered being in the musical taste of a nineteen year old man, but it never failed to move me in some way.

So I crushed myself into the corner and pulled my jacket around my torso, retracting my hands into the sleeves and balling them into fists. I let the pixie-like melody enshroud my senses, drifting my mind back into some kind of semi-dream state. I wasn't asleep, but I wasn't quite awake either. If anyone left the café I'd be too far gone to move out of the way for them.

I tucked my nose into the jacket collar and allowed my eyes to flutter shut. That was the mood it made me feel - nostalgic. So I happily welcomed memories of that time all those months ago.

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><p>Rehab wasn't what you'd call the cheeriest of places. It could have been a cause of the twenty druggies gathered in a room telling sob-stories of how they overdosed for the most part of their lives, but I think the main reason was that this was a support group for fourteen to twenty year olds who were, as they put it, battling with drugs. It was a little disheartening to note how many fourteen year olds came across every couple of weeks due to snorting cocaine, decided to turn over a new leaf then left in the next few weeks to continue with their addiction. I might have found it sick, but to be fair I wasn't one to judge. In any case I was sat amongst said druggies for the exact same reason.<p>

I should probably explain. From what I could tell, our rehab wasn't like normal rehabilitation centres. I'd heard they'd had to write essays and focus on the consequences of taking drugs rather than actually being given help. I'm sure they were more pressured into going off drugs through horror stories and gory pictures instead of being coaxed into reforming themselves. Our rehab group… wasn't like that. It was like fucking church. Like alcoholics anonymous or some other corny group that helped people transform their lives. Every Friday evening we would be forced to attend the vapid meetings that were complemented by a few broken chairs and a table with an odd looking flagon of water in it. It all sounds _very _homely, save for the fact that it took place in the sports hall of the local high school. I found it a little ironic and a little sad that the guys (which rehab was, almost predominantly, made up of) who had just pulled themselves through another hellacious week of school might have been happy to go home for the weekend… but they still ultimately ended up returning there a few hours later. Again, I could have laughed at them if I hadn't suffered the same fate.

My side of the story probably wasn't as sad as the rest of the guys' there. For starters, I was leaving the group in a couple of months due to the dastardly process which we call 'aging'. I say 'we', the majority of human beings call it aging. I much more aptly called it 'dying', but I wasn't allowed to talk about such depressing things in the presence of fourteen year olds. After all, that was the most miserable thing we could possibly talk about at drug rehabilitation. There was also the somewhat more surprising fact that whenever I told my life story it seemed like I was just bound to end up on drugs at some stage. Born and raised in an abusive home, in and out of A&E every couple of weeks; parents argued and were continually in an affair with what was most likely a fat, unfaithful spouse themselves. Eventually, mother killed father then killed herself; not forgetting to leave toddler with a wonderful array of stab wounds myself. Toddler found bleeding and crying on the floor by an elderly couple who wondered why the house seemed so quiet after years of quarrelling. Apparently it had been a miracle that I was alive, considering my wounds, age and the fact that I'd been in that house for a day or two before anyone found me. Damned bitch couldn't even kill me properly.

But even after I was fully healed nobody wanted me. I was the freak with white hair and teal eyes; son of a bitch and an abuser. After all, I would obviously take after the two of them. That kind of thing is genetic. You can try to hide it all you want, but deep down we are all evil. Every single person has that capability - the aptitude to become a killer. There is no person who wouldn't kill another if it meant they could save themselves. Whether we choose to go down that path, to venerate the evil, is a completely different matter. The genes are what decide that choice. I was bound to murder someone at some point - destined to some nocuous lifestyle of hatred and bloodshed. Sometimes I wondered if it was wrong of me to disappoint them.

I'd heard somewhere that you formed your 'Love map' by the age of six. I don't remember where; probably some TV drama about serial killers I'd watched at my first home. Supposedly, by the age of six you have formed your idea of who your ideal lover will be, have formed sexual preferences and understand just what personality it is you're attracted to. My parents died when I was five and I spent four years in a foster home; yet another reason why I was doomed to fail. I had no-one when I was six; logic suggests I cannot form relationships. It seemed like a shame, but I didn't really care. After all, I didn't _need _anyone. There was no sense of remorse for the fact that I couldn't bring myself to want to get to know anyone. The only downside was certain things stuck from the years before, some things that I really didn't want to remember or discuss; certain things that left me more afraid of men than any animal could dare to dream.

In other words, I was gay.

At first I rebuked the idea; didn't allow myself to think of such things. I never wanted to believe that I could possibly revel in the gender that provided me such treatment which left me bleeding and crying _every fucking night_. My body rejected that kind of pain, that kind of resignation. If I was gay, if I was attracted to men, then didn't that mean I liked things like that? That I liked being tied down to the bed and slammed into the headboards? That I liked being stretched to the point of agony? That I liked _him? _My teeth began to grind at that thought. Liking men meant that I liked my father, and that was a thought that I couldn't stomach. So I constantly denied my sexuality; I allowed myself to date whatever girl might ask me out, despite my lack of self-confidence. It always bemused me how many of those bitches seemed to want to go out with me. It wasn't like I was the best-looking man on the planet; but according to them it was my eyes. _Tch… _My lifeless, dull eyes that had seen too much and could forget little were attractive to them? They were all bitches; the lot of them. I convinced myself that being gay had to be at least a little more dignified than being attracted to those whining chicks who constantly wanted just more and more and _fucking more _to the point where I could hardly afford to buy myself food (My foster parents obviously didn't feed me but those bastards aren't even worth mentioning).

I'd had enough and declared myself fully and completely gay after the fifth girlfriend. No-one seemed to mind, or at least not outwardly. If they judged me then they sure as hell didn't show it. Let's just say I had a bit of a temper - it wasn't me taking the trips to A&E anymore. The police station appeared to be more of a routine visit nowadays. That girlfriend (I don't even remember her first name - Himamori* or something like that) didn't seem to take the news all too well either. She wept to her best friend every time I walked past her, saying that it was her that had made me 'play for the other side', as she politely put it. She might've tried to muster up an irritated glare as I stalked past her but I would simply shoot her a cocky smirk, jerk an eyebrow her way and she would end up hysterical yet again. I could have petted her and consoled her, assured her it wasn't her fault… had I really given a crap. She was too quiet, too annoyingly high-pitched and so _fucking whiny. _

I stopped thinking about my life about then because the harsh trill of a triangle began to sound, being struck every second at first and then becoming faster and faster until the ringing stopped all together. The entire room turned cold as we turned our heads, very slowly, to look at the source of the ringing. Urahara Kisuke - a local shop owner who took pleasure in getting children off of drugs. He always seemed to wear the same garb - a green and white pin-striped hat that cast a dusky shadow across his eyes, what looked like a green karate suit, a black cloak type thing… and an amber-eyed cat who he insisted we referred to as 'Yoruichi-san'. She had that kind of evil glint in her eye that meant that everyone in her field of vision was under constant scrutiny. But it wasn't the harsh, waiting for a mistake kind of stare; it was the 'I want to find something I can laugh at you for' type of stare. She perched perilously upon his shoulder, examining every face and personality in the room with a languid blink of her fluorescent eyes. She would be ready to pounce whatever unlucky soul piqued her interest next. He loved that cat three times more than he loved his job - so if you wanted rehab and you were allergic to cats then it was _tough fucking shit. _

Urahara set down the triangle next to the jug of water then picked up a thick, paper fan and opened it in front of his face with the skill of a traditional dancer. The paper was just thick enough that it completely masqueraded what was most likely a scathing grin as he glanced at the new attendees of the group. The man was undoubtedly spiteful towards the children he decided to help, but only before he knew them. It may take him months to do so, but if the new kids stuck around for more than a few weeks then they might earn the pleasure of talking to the group leader on equal terms. My several years meant that Urahara was a man I trusted. Not with my secrets or my life, but I trusted that he was honest. He wasn't my friend. He wasn't my acquaintance. He was a man I trusted not to hurt me. That was all.

Yoruichi-san let out a loud wail that signalled the start of the meeting. With a bemoaning grunt, the cacophonic sound of plastic chairs scraping across Padenpor flooring indicated that all conversation was over (what little there was to begin with) and we were beginning to shunt forwards to form a loose semi-circle around Urahara and the cat. There were clear protests of derision from many of the regulars, the loudest from a redhead named Abarai Renji and his follower Madarame Ikkaku, but the complaints weren't quite as strident as usual. I glanced around and did a quick head count. There were twelve this week, as opposed to the usual eleven. I say usual… we hadn't had any newcomers or deserters for the past month. I noted, however, that there were two newbies and one absconder. Without looking at the new people, a practise I generally stuck to until they began to speak, I noted that it was one Yamada Hanatarō who had left. He was fifteen and had been stuck on speed for the past two years without his parent's knowledge. They caught him in the act and sent him here. That was how it was for most the kids here. None of them wanted to get off drugs; they were perfectly fine with inciting an early death so long as they could get that delicious dizziness that came with a drug high. It was always the parents.

Me? I was different. I didn't want to be dependent on crack for the rest of my life. It wore me out, caused a constant drought in my pocket and always left me feeling worse and wanting more. I'd always wanted to make something of myself, but just lacked that motivation to do anything about it. I dropped out of school (unbeknownst to my parents) when I was sixteen and spent the next year dealing so I could pay for my addiction. I didn't have any qualifications so I couldn't get a job. The only work that didn't need a degree in _this _neighbourhood was drug dealing and prostitution, and my understandable prudishness led me to the former. It was half a year later that I realised what a total prat I was for leaving school, and yet another half year before I could gain the will to change anything. But me being me… I was much too proud to admit to needing help. So instead I made it blatantly obvious that I was skipping school to my parents. I would return home well before school ended with the white powder still stuck to my nostrils. It took the two of them_ weeks _to even notice that something was different, and that was when I had to physically snort the stuff in front of them during school time. Sometimes I wondered if I was any better off here than I was back at 'home', but instantly rejected that thought. Better to be ignored that to have them all over you.

So they begrudgingly sent me here. It wasn't that I liked the place because I didn't. It was a dull, apathetic group of teenagers who stank of drugs gathering to talk about their pathetic lives. It wasn't cheery and it didn't really help at all. Most of the kids who came here left the next week - you were considered strong willed if you managed a month. I was probably the longest attendee, holding a record-breaking eleven months. I'd seen half the kids on street come in and out of here, none of them managing more than three months at best. I didn't forget them, though. I felt as though it was my duty to be their leader, their moral supervisor; the person that cared about them when no-one else did. So I made it my job to remember everything they said. It was for that reason that I didn't bother listening to the dull introductions that had now begun upon Yoruichi-san's mewl. I knew them all by heart. I glanced around the circle and noticed that the two newcomers (whose faces I still hadn't fully looked at) were at the end of the circle, the only exception being Matsumoto Rangiku who sat between them both. I could daydream until then.

But even if I wanted to ignore everyone I still couldn't help that incorrigible habit of mine to go over everyone in the group whilst they introduced themselves. Abarai Renji: Aged seventeen. Was in a severe car-crash at a young age, causing the death of his mother. Was in severe pain and had to be given morphine, to which his addiction grew. Madarame Ikkaku: Aged seventeen. Abarai's protégé. Thought Abarai was cool for taking morphine and joined in. Took it worse than his leader, has been in hospital several times due to his addiction but only left the next morning with yet another handful of stolen morphine. Yukio Hans Vorarlberna: Aged fourteen. Death of parents caused depression; smoked to releave stress. Dokugamine Riruka: Aged fifteen. Started heroin simply for the fun of it. She refused to reveal anything else about herself.

Then it was my turn. I paused for a moment to process my thoughts, then I stood and began to speak. "Hey. Hitsugaya Tōshirō. Nineteen. I took crack to annoy my parents; been clean for five months." I sat down just as quickly as I had stood up, crossed my legs and went back to reciting their life stories.

Ayasegawa Yumichika: Aged eighteen. Family was made redundant so he was left to earn money through prostitution. Had to take Viagra to get himself off, became addicted. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez: Aged nineteen. Rebelled at a young age and began to go clubbing every Friday night. Was pawned ecstasy and needed more and more to achieve his high. Took ecstasy with alcohol and ended up in hospital. Ulquiorra Cifer: Aged eighteen. All time emo and alcoholic of the century.

Finally, my brain perked up as a young man began to stand up. I looked fully at his face, and quite possible the most interesting aspect of it was the number '69' tattooed on his left cheek. My brow furrowed. Even under the influence of drugs, what was the chance of you being insane enough to want to tattoo something like _that _on your face? I most certainly wouldn't ever attempt to engrave the word 'GAY' across my forehead in some kind of traditional lettering even if I was off my head. But it seemed as though he might have had a thing for the tattoos, as when I looked again I noted the thick blue stripe that drew a line from his temple and over the bridge of his nose. When I looked even further down, he had tattooed a ladder type circle around his neck and forearms. It seemed like a completely unnatural style. I glanced at the ripped-sleeved school shirt that was unbuttoned to his stomach complemented by a red and black tie that was looped in some horrible attempt at a knot. He wore black, ripped jeans that could probably pass off as school trousers if you really squinted and his hips were rimmed with a black, studded belt that didn't seem to do anything other than define his arse. He wore a couple of looped necklaces that weren't at all girly, and I realised that it wasn't supposed to be natural at all; it was rebellion. After all, wasn't that what we were all here for? None of us felt demeaned by the fact that we couldn't seem to go a few hours without some fuzzy feeling of a drugged trance. We did it because it was the right thing to do - it was the statement we needed to prove that it was this goddamned town doing this to us. It was like saying 'I know this offends you, but I couldn't give a shit because I'm doing it.' It was a statement that you could only comprehend if you were part of the guild, one of the people who were rebelling. It was something you couldn't even explain coherently.

He hunched over for a few seconds, scratching his chin and pulling his brows together as he tried to think of something to say, then stood upright and thrust his hands in the pockets of his school trousers, hooking his thumbs into his belt and pulling the material of his shirt back with his elbows to reveal a little more of his stomach and torso. He wasn't at all ashamed of being heavily tattooed and held an abnormal pride for his figure. I might have found that instantly repulsive had I not found him strangely attractive. I also saw a kind of daring, mischievous kind of glint in his eye that said he wasn't looking for specific attention; he just wanted to be noticed. Not by girls, but by adults - a nuisance.

"Hi," he began, and I thought that his voice was a lot softer than I would have initially imagined. "Hisagi Shūhei. Nineteen. 'm here with this bastard." He thrust a thumb to the guy on the other side of Matsumoto… but I was still too busy looking at his appearance to notice who he was gesturing towards. "Been on Heroin for 'past four years and this'n persuaded me to come sort meself out." He tilted his head to the kid next to him again then sat down. He was heavily accented. It sounded British, maybe Scottish. Or there was that place in between… Yorkshire. He came from Yorkshire. It was an alluring, amiable accent that he drawled so easily. It made the rest of us sound so harsh. I liked it, and the raised eyebrows and high-pitched wolf whistle that came from beside me said that Riruka liked it as well. I also noted that Abarai was across the circle pursing his lips and cocking a brow towards the newcomer, most likely admiring the tattoos. The redhead had his own liking towards permanently drawing on his body and sported his own lightning shaped tattoos on his forehead (which emphasized his eyebrows a little too much), neck, torso and God knows where else.

The room still remained awkwardly silent but Hisagi didn't seem to mind. He scratched his sleeve, tugged on his collar and glanced expectantly towards his neighbour. His eyes bulged when he _saw _Matsumoto; 'Matsumoto' being the loose term for her breasts.

Matsumoto made a point of rising from her seat as slowly and sultrily as she could, leaning forward to present her 'assets' to the men across the room. Most began to mutter amongst themselves, ranging from quite a cheesy 'Hot damn' and 'Woah', to the slightly more appropriate 'Well ain't she showing off her tits today?' She finally stood up to her full height and rolled her shoulders back to push out her breasts just a little more. Not that she needed to - anything smaller than an 'E' would be a drastic understatement. Today, she wore a tank top that was a little too small for her, showing a very prominent dip in her cleavage.

"I'm Matsumoto Rangiku," she began sweetly. "I'm nineteen and I'm just here to watch." Then she sat down just as slowly and leaned forward just as much before turning her head to Hisagi and giving him a quick wink. I hadn't mentioned her yet. Matsumoto Rangiku: Aged nineteen. Inexplicable attraction to druggies. She point blank refused to take drugs herself - claimed that they would ruin her perfect complexion - but she couldn't help but date every man who was high half of the time. Not that many could refuse her with breasts like that.

Hisagi jerked a brow at her and let a crooked grin spread across his face. He slumped back in his chair and brought his leg up to rest the ankle on his opposite knee. He twisted his body towards her somewhat and leaned his elbow on the back of the seat.

"Well aintch'e a reet'un?" He drawled smoothly, making sure he brought out his brogue to the fullest. I felt blood rush downwards at that accent, already imagining how my name would sound on that tongue.

Matsumoto didn't quite have the same reaction. She blushed madly at reason that wasn't just for the silky tone. She wasn't the smartest chick, not by far.

"Hun," she enunciated in a sickly sweet voice. "As much as that voice of yours excites my lady parts, I haven't got a clue what you just said."

Laughter erupted around the circle but Hisagi still seemed unperturbed by it all. His grim simply spread further and he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as if to say 'Can't blame a guy for trying.'

"He said 'Yer a right one.' Or, in American terms, 'Ain't you a pretty lass?'" A thick, but not quite as heavy, accent cut through the air and stopped all conversation short. All eyes moved to the satin smooth voice of the other newcomer who sat beside Matsumoto - the only man, save from me, who didn't have a nuance of pink across his cheeks from Matsumoto's breasts. It was hard to tell from the fact that he pronounced those previous words carefully to make his point, but I was pretty sure he was a Yorkshire man as well. He'd said 'lass' and 'yer', words I was sure were more of the Yorkshire dialect than any other. Staring at the guy, it was hard not to judge him instantly. I eyed him up and down very quickly just to make sure my conclusion was correct but I hardly needed another confirmation.

The guy was fucking hot.

I'm not quite sure how he did it, but he put Hisagi to shame. I would never look at the former Yorkshire man if I could stare at _this _one forever more. I had always boasted to have done the best job of bleaching my hair out of anyone I'd met, completely aware that it was a horrible disaster with a tub of bleach which left my hair completely white, but when I saw him it pained me to say that it looked like he had done it _right. _Orange hair paled slightly by the chemical to give it a sunny, bright look that was all too cheery for the dwelling he was in. He had a couple of frown lines on his forehead that showed that a scowl was all too frequent on his face, but today it seemed to be pulled into a dopey grin that would be fit for a St. Bernard. And his _eyes_…They were such an intense cocoa that it would be easy for him to dazzle someone into submission like some sparkly vampire one second and then subsequently glare so intensely that said someone would be sent reeling to a corner to rock and hide away. The thought excited me; turned me on even more than what I assumed would be an equally sexy accent. Chocolate eyes boring deep into mine, cloudy with lust and shaded by long, drooping eyelashes. Then I began to wonder what would happen if he breathed my name into my ear and I had to cross my legs to hide myself.

When all chatter stopped, he took the liberty of standing up without confirmation from Yoruichi-san and thrust his hands into his back pockets. Now stood up he seemed a little bit shyer, and I could see him flush faintly when he noticed me checking him out. I raised a brow and felt one corner of my mouth upturn. That wasn't a bad sigh. To prove a point, I raked my eyes over him with taunting lethargy and made sure to pause at every feature of his body. He wore a black cotton shirt - the cut of which I couldn't tell for it was covered by a black, what looked like felt, coat that he had buttoned half way up. The rest of his chest was covered by a scarf that was striped with a multitude of greys, hiding what I assumed was an incredibly long neck. He shuffled around uneasily in plain grey converse and scratched the leg of his grey, straight leg jeans. It was monochromatic, contrasting - only emphasized that shock of orange hair and brought out the colour in his eyes. I looked back up towards his face and, very slowly, licked my lips; nearly laughing out loud when he blushed madly and averted his gaze. But then that blush dissipated just as quickly as it had come to life and he flicked his eyes towards me, the irises becoming blacker around the middle and golden towards the edges that just added a whole winsome quality to his visage.

So I had a pretty high libido and this guy was totally attractive and reacting in a way that _screamed _he was gay. No biggy.

"Hey," he said. "'m Kurosaki Ichigo, 'm nineteen 'nd-"

"_EH?" _A falsetto squeak rang in my ears and I almost hit Riruka for interrupting his speech. I glared at her with as much force as I could muster whilst squeezing my thighs together harshly. She had leaned forward in her seat, her legs spreading in surprise as if she was going to run across the room, and her mouth was gaping. Yukio frowned at her when the majority of the room stared up her skirt. "As in, _the _Kurosaki Ichigo? Like, from the news?"

He offered her a brief smile and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Um, yeah?"

Conversation started up again. My head whizzed around to look at the people who seemed to know what Riruka was talking about, which happened to be everyone. Several people leaned over to their neighbours, glancing over at the carrot-top every few seconds whilst hiding their conversations behind a gaunt, yellow hand. Urahara was talking to his cat with evident interest, although you couldn't really tell as his face was still concealed behind that irksome fan. Yukio glanced up from his video game to look at the man, pursed his lips in some kind of reaction (though what it was exactly couldn't be discerned, any kind of reaction from Yukio generally entailed an interesting story), then became immersed in his pixelated world once more. Even Grimmjow who was a seemingly hard-to-impress man cocked an eyebrow - impressed. I suddenly felt like this was one of those times when I should have paid more attention to life outside of Karakura.

"Hang on a minute," I began, holding my hands up in a kind of resignation and standing up to prove my authority. "I don't care about all you lot but I dunno who this Strawberry is so someone tell me."

There were a couple of snickers. I was infamous for not knowing things like that, always behind on so-called 'gossip'. The parents never let me watch TV, so how was I supposed to know about things that were on the news? It wasn't like I read newspapers or whatever it is old people lacking in televisions did. I didn't really care; I wasn't a fan of depressing things like news channels that only ever talked of wars and money. It only proved to be slightly inconvenient when it came to discussions like this, when I - the almost unspoken Alpha of the pack - couldn't join in with such things. I glanced around feebly to look for help from someone, then when nobody seemed to answer my pleas I finally turned to Kurosaki; tilted my head a little to the side to imply that he should be explaining something round about now.

Kurosaki grinned. "Hmm… Strawberry. Well tha's a nickname I ain't heard in a while." He tapped the skin by his neck then folded his arms in one fluid movement. His eyes flashed impishly, daringly. "Y'ain't got no right to call me that, 'ave ya, Shiro-chan?"

The laughter that followed was booming and intrusive, causing a vein to bulge just as much as it did with that dreaded nickname. My lips pursed and teeth gritted so hard I felt them shift in places. _Shiro-chan. That _was a name _I _hadn't heard in a while - one I would have preferred never to hear again. The backs of my eyes throbbed with anger, pulsed with the memories I had tried so hard to suppress. White hot rage began to creep through me, clinging onto each cell with a vice-like grip, like a parasite trying to take over. My eyes fluttered shut oh so gently… then screwed together when the memories returned. They flashed before the back of my aching eyeballs, causing a bead of sweat to drip down my forehead. Reels and reels of my past flashed before my closed lids, huge with deafening sound like a comedy at the cinemas. I pressed a finger to my temple, trying to drown out the noise of the laughter. It resonated for a while before fading into an annoying buzz. I don't think many people noticed my distress; those who did probably found it funny. I wondered if my boner had grown to be clearly noticeable but I was quite sure _that_ had died down with the headache.

It felt like years, painstakingly prolonged years, before the headache faded to something more manageable. I unscrewed my eyelids and looked straight forwards, finger still at temple and eyes focused on the carrot-top. It didn't surprise me that the laughter still remained heated and raucous; what did was that Kurosaki appeared to have pushed his muzzle forward with interest and blinked at me with glazed, perplexed eyes. Sincere concern appeared to dance in the chocolate orbs… and I wondered why.

"Alright then, everybody!" An overly cheery voice sounded through the chaos and a series of clapping hands eventually turned the racket into a quiet din. Urahara snapped his fan shut and plucked Yoruichi-san off his shoulder by the scruff of the neck to place her in his lap. She let out a loud purr and curled in a tight circle - a sure sign that she wanted to sleep. All noise stopped. Nobody disturbed Yoruichi-san's sleep. That was the second highest reason why people the group (of course, the first being the fact that they couldn't stay off drugs). "How about we let Kurosaki-san tell his story for the sake of Hitsugaya-kun here? Would you be okay with that, Kurosaki-san?"

Kurosaki shrugged with a little too much emphasis. "Sure, m' not bothered."

I decided that sitting down might be a good idea. It could have just been his way of preparing for something that probably was going to be a little ominous, but the deep breath he took gave me a gut feeling that this was going to be a long story.

"Couple years back I lived in England with me Dad 'nd me two sisters. Mum died in some car crash when I were a lad so I dun' really remember her. 'm not gonna go on some rant ab'aht me life 'nd all that crap so, long story short, I got me'self kidnapped. 'pparently 'guy were buildin' up some army of kids or summet stupid like tha'. Dun ask me whut he were fightin' for. Probably a communist or summet."

The few kids who knew what a communist was snickered.

He continued. "So 'guy was a lil' bit off 'is head 'nd starts dopin' us. Heroin. Tha's where I met Shuuhei 'ere." He tilted his head to Hisagi who barely noticed, eyes still stripping Matsumoto of what little clothes she was clad in. "He were there 'longest of us. What were it… four years? Think so… Shuuhei? Nope… okay never mind…" The carrot-top's friend didn't appear to even be listening anymore. "So yeah. In 'end 'Police finds us 'nd we're still all high off Heroin. Dad din't trust England anymore so we move 'ere… and 'ere I am."

The tall man ended his speech with a nonchalant shrug then sat down hurriedly. He looked down at his thumbs and twiddled them nervously. Silent, many refused to even look at him. I stared at him in horror, mouth agape and grip on my chair somewhat slackening. How could he even have told that? Why would he? Weren't there some things that deserved to be kept a secret? I would never… _never _tell anyone of the things my father did to me. The hateful words, the abuse… the rape…

Before my thoughts could wander any further Urahara's voice came out loud and clear - taking on that unnaturally jovial tone that it did when a situation became too awkward. "Okay then! Let's get started!"

* * *

><p>The session had been as dull as it always was; Madarame and Abarai being the only people to do much talking, which was generally some rather violent and crude threats to whatever unsuspecting soul dared to defy them in any way. It was an especially loud and boisterous meeting as Abarai had seemed to have taken a liking to Hisagi and his plethora of tattoos, yelling at the guy loudly to ask him questions as to why and where he got the tattoos from. Whilst the young man remained silent for most of the group, he simply answered a few times with a simple 'I felt like it' then returned to studying Matsumoto, who was skilfully pulling off a hard-to-get act.<p>

Kurosaki also stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting and simply twiddled his thumbs together. I also opted not to speak and instead watched him play with his fingers. He twirled them in and out of each other frequently, sometimes rolling them so the joints probably cracked (though I couldn't hear it from the other side of the room) and other times tying them together in something that resembled Hisagi's tie. At one point the shoved his thumb backwards so it stuck to the back of his hand and I had to cringe when he held it up to the light to take a look. I hadn't even known it was possible to do something like that. Curiosity got the better of me and I took hold of my own thumb to try and see if it was possible. I bent it to the side a little but chickened out for fear of breaking the bone. It was probably something only double-jointed people could do anyway…

The session eventually passed and we were all dismissed. The children who were under around sixteen all hurried for the exit; desperate to get away from the accursed school that they had been in for at least eight hours now. The others ambled away with a little less haste, and I noticed that Kurosaki hadn't moved. His friend appeared to have abandoned him and I could see a length of strawberry blonde hair lying on the floor outside which meant that Hisagi was probably on top of said strawberry blonde hair. I rolled my eyes.

"Well that's a bit of a prick, he's being there," I yelled quite loudly as for Kurosaki to hear.

The carrot-top looked up at me, lips parted in slight confusion as if he was wondering who I was talking to. I met his gaze and let a grin fall across my face. His lips pulled into something similar.

"Nah, 'guy can do wha'ever he wants, can't he?" He stopped playing with his thumbs and opted to stand instead, finally realising that no-one but me and him were in the sports hall now. He rocked around on the balls of his feet uneasily. I wasn't sure why he seemed so tense now, for the utter confidence that played across his features when we first met gazes seemed like something one couldn't fake. It was sincere, I knew that. So why did he shuffle now; playing with his thumbs like my presence just made him feel too awkward. With a long sigh, he finally said, "Sorry about the whole 'Shiro-chan', thing."

My eyes flicked towards him. _Sincerity. _It was there again. Nobody apologised out of pure sincerity, from the simple desire to act contrite for something. It just didn't work that way. Sure, people apologised because it was the right thing to do or because they were ordered by someone of higher rank to do so… but a pure, candid apology? It never happened. There were apologies that only came about because of guilt, of knowing that what you have said has hurt someone and the only way to rid yourself of that culpability was to apologise… but those weren't real. People don't work like that anyway. They could never say a simple 'sorry' just because they were truly remorseful.

So why was there no nuance of conceit in his voice?

I shrugged. "It's alright."

He shook his head and took a vacillating step towards me, his brows pulling together. "Nah, t'obviously means somethin' to ya', so I shunt'a said it." He reached out slowly to put a comforting hand on my shoulder, something I ordinarily would have jerked away from kicking and screaming. But for some reason I found myself leaning somewhat towards him - to close that gap, even if just a little. When his palm finally landed on my shoulder and his fingers curled around it, it took almost all of my willpower not to sigh into the touch. His fingers were soft around the thin material of my shirt, caressing the fabric in a way that was _not _customary for two men who had met an hour ago. The feathery touches were so unperturbed in a way that wasn't possible that I could feel the heat pooling just from his certainty. Either customs were different in England than they were here or he really did boast a huge ego.

"It's alright," I repeated. "You didn't know." It took me a few seconds too long to realise that I was leaning a little too heavily so I wrenched a little too harshly out of his grip. It was gone already and I yearned for it.

He offered me a quick smile but then the silence returned; awkward as ever. I'd never been one to have experience an awkward silence. Sure, I rarely talked to people so I didn't generally find silence awkward in the first place, but when the situation arose I'd never found it difficult to fill said silence with some kind of conversation. But now, I wasn't sure what to talk about. _Always refer back to any previous conversation _was a rule I'd made up myself. It worked for the most part, but I figured this was an exception. What was I supposed to say? _'So, what's it like having some guy dope you with heroin? Is it fun?' _I mentally snorted. We were all here due to some kind of drug problem, existing or not. Asking if it was fun would just make me seem all that more off my head. I could get rid of the last sentence but I still doubt bringing up something like _that _was going to be a fun topic. Besides, asking about drugs hardly seemed like standard conversation.

So I was more than a little relieved when his friend staggered back inside; hair dishevelled and tie managing to look even worse than it had before. The shredded ribbon of his sleeve had slid down his arm to reveal a creamy shoulder, covering one of the tattoos on his arm. He wore a dopey smirk on his face with the clear shape of lips printed sloppily around his mouth like bright scarlet paint. My gaze must have caught his because he wiped it off with the back of his arm, still grinning Cheshire-cat style. He looked like an utter tramp compared to the carrot-top he was walking towards.

"Bitch stood me up," he noted plainly, scrubbing at his cheek with his fist. "She' jus' playin' 'ard to get."

"Sure you ain't just a damn sight uglier than you thought, Shūhei?" Kurosaki nudged his friend harshly in the ribs, lips drawing that same smile that Hisagi donned.

The man scoffed. "Please," he drawled. "Me ego woul'n't allow tha'."

The two laughed for a long time and I just stood there awkwardly. I could have chimed in, offered the two some witty comment that would leave them both in tears but to be frank I couldn't be bothered. That kind of comment took more brain power than I had the motivation to use. I shuffled, somewhat out of nervousness and somewhat out of my feet hurting from standing too long, and waited for the laughter to subside. It was quite a harsh, abrupt sound from the two Yorkshire men but it wasn't completely unpleasant. The lengthy laughter that concurred seemed to have lasted too long for the situation it was in. Possibly an inside joke that I could probably never comprehend.

Wiping a half-imaginary tear from his eye, Hisagi turned to me. He inspected me with full sincerity, only acting dim by stroking his chin and cocking a hand by his hip. "So, this'un's 'one who were checkin' you out, Ichigo?"

I spluttered and stared at them both wide eyed. Hisagi still pinched his chin and looked me over like a dog at a show, but Kurosaki seemed to shrug and concede; completely unperturbed by it. I had _not _been checking him out. I did not check people out. Sure, I looked him up and down and cocked a brow suggestively… but he did all those things back so neither could complain. Besides, that wasn't 'checking him out'. I was teasing him. Obviously. It never once excited me to think about the way that coat clung to his body and how it shadowed his figure just a little too much, how it made me want to see what was under it all. Never once thought about that.

It took me a second too long to gather my thoughts. _Witty comment, Tōshirō, _I told myself. Thinking of one was too much effort. _Just be sarcastic then. _"Oh no," I said quite loudly, allowing my voice to raise an octave. "Not Kurosaki. I'm much more interested in his friend, you see."

Hisagi laughed and completely disregarded his scowling other half. When he spoke again it was much slower, much more enunciated. "Well 'm afraid to say…" And to prove his point he raised a fist, smeared with various shades of reds and pinks, before continuing: "that I don't swing tha' way."

I chuckled somewhat seductively, lowly. A plan had begun to formulate in my head and I was honestly a little too excited to try it out. I smirked archly before stalking towards him, striding with long, lax steps until I was right next to him. I rested a playful hand on his shoulder, only brushing the skin lightly so I could trail my fingers down his skin. _Don't swing that way, my arse, _I thought amusedly when he shivered slightly. His breathing was still steady though, something which did assure me of his sexuality, but the discomfort that was salient across his features was too tempting to resist. I rounded him whilst dragging my fingers from his shoulder to his neck, gripping on a little before tracing thin lines up to his jaw. I almost laughed at him, almost laughed at how tense his body became when I started towards his ear to whisper something. I stood on my tip-toes (for once glad that my height gave me _this _kind of advantage) and leaned ever closer to him until my lips nearly brushed by his earlobe.

"Well then," I susurrated. "What about 'tuther Yorkshire man?"

Kurosaki's ears perked as he was mentioned. He raised a brow at me, probably trying not to laugh at my Yorkshire accent that was all too perfect. I jerked an equally teasing brow his way, then tore away from Hisagi to walk towards the young man. Kurosaki stood square and stiff with his arms crossed, but I could see the lack of defence in his stature. It was a cheesy and playful _'Come at me, bro'_ and I nearly chuckled at him. Hisagi was left somewhat forgotten behind us, still staring after me in confusion. He probably didn't get many men coming onto him where he lived. This part of town, however, was packed with too many people who just didn't give a damn what people think. He knew that and tried to fit in - ripping his sleeves and wearing a feeble imitation of a school uniform but anyone could tell it was a faux. He would dress closer to what Kurosaki wore normally. But he was still a cocky bastard, no doubt.

I was feeling pretty cocky myself that night, however, so it didn't even surprise me when I hooked an arm through Kurosaki's and towed him away. This was out of character for me; abnormally so and what did surprise me was that I didn't mind. I liked being in charge for once. I liked the fact that I was so naturally taking the lead and dragging a young, hot man away from his equally young, hot friend and it seemed to be just something that I would do. Taking control was something I could get used to.

"Can't call 'im a prick if yer doin' the same thing t'me, can you?" His low brogue snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced over him and had to stifle yet another laugh. I'd been walking pretty fast and my grip was pretty tight, so he was barely keeping up the pace; tripping every few seconds over imaginary sticks and stones. With an unmanly giggle, I let go of him and walked slower and slower until I came to a halt by a small wall. It looked like the entrance to a car park, but I couldn't really tell from the dusk light so I sat down on it anyway. I wasn't sure where we were but I was glad it wasn't by that school. That place was filled with too many memories; stalking the corridors and clinging to the walls.

I shrugged and rested my ankle on my knee. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he'll find his way home."

The chuckle that followed was resigned, so I knew I'd won that one already. He sat down on the damp stone next to me and leaned back somewhat. His chest puffed out with the deep breath he took… then I found myself watching the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage. It was metronomic, relaxing; not so quick that it left me on edge and claustrophobic the way most sudden movements did. When I did realise that I was, in fact, staring at another man's chest, I finally diverted my gaze towards the night before us. The streetlights were flickering to life a little too late for it was pretty dark and seeing further than a few feet ahead was difficult. The breeze was cold, raising Goosebumps on my skin, but it wasn't intolerable. I liked that kind of chill - the kind that left you shivering a little and wanting just that small bit of heat from a jumper, blanket… human. It was then when Kurosaki convulsed in a violent shudder, racking his body and causing his face to twitch involuntarily. It was a little amusing, for the routine happened again a couple of seconds later. He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Aren't'cha cold?" He nodded towards my thin, though long sleeved, shirt. I instinctively glanced down at it. He was right - the temperature of the night did seem a little too cold for the simple shirt I was wearing, but I liked the shirt. It was fitted and defined my sharp-angled figure a little too much, clinging tightly to my arms and ruffling up in places where it couldn't fall down again. Sure, it led to me readjusting the material every few minutes but I liked it. It was a band shirt: Three Days Grace. It was charcoal and had the logo of one of their new albums on, showing off two men beating…. something…. with baseball bats. Then there were a few crows flying off into the distance, which just so happened to be where the title of the band was printed. Three Days Grace was one of the few bands I knew where I liked every song I heard… but, of course, I only had a measly three on my battered iPod. The only reason I don't like being poor…

I could only shrug. I wasn't cold.

With a shaky sigh, he furled his fingers around the edges of his jacket and pulled it around his torso. It was obviously a cold night for normal people. I looked at the air in front of me and notice white rings of water vapour forming when I breathed. Huh. It must've been cold. I glanced around my person for something that I could give him to warm him up but I wasn't carrying any extra weight. I blatantly ignored the fact that this was going against all my hedonistic beliefs, that I should not be caring whether this man was warm, cold… fucking dead or alive. But I did. It was probably because he was a hot guy showing some kind of interest in me and despite my obvious prudishness my hand would not be enough to satisfy me one day. So instead, I shuffled a little closer. Just a little; not even touching him. Just close enough for him to lean on me if he needed it.

"Why's Hisagi come with you?" I asked a little loudly.

He turned to me with adorably pink cheeks from the cold. "Huh?"

I drew my legs up and embraced them, resting my chin on my knees. "You said that you met Hisagi at that place. So why didn't he go home to his parents? Why's he here with you? I doubt that he coincidently moved to the same neighbourhood as you, did he?"

When Kurosaki didn't answer I felt as though I had pried too far already. His gaze trailed from my eyes to the ground. His legs swung pendulously like a child on a swing. He relinquished his grip on the coat and instead clutched at the wall he was sat on, fingers not working properly from the cold. Silence continued. A single car revved its engine and sped past, but then the silence returned. I opened my mouth to break the soundlessness but he lifted a hand to stop me. My mouth remained agape for a short while before it closed. I opened and closed my lips a few more times, looking like a gormless fish as I did so, but his hand remained steady and unmoving in the air so I closed it for good. I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to answer; that I'd just met him and it was obviously something that hurt him so he didn't have to divulge. But either way he seemed like he was okay with it, or at least as though he was _going to tell me _whether we liked it or not.

"Hisagi Daichi," he grunted. The name made his fists clench and jaw jut out. Of course it would. It was obvious. He didn't even need to go on but he did for some unfathomable reason. "The man who kidnapped us was his father."

I chewed on my bottom lip, neither encouraging nor discouraging him to continue. The story sounded like something I would enjoy; some sick, twisted tale that I would find all too intriguing. The kind that would leave me squirming impossibly but I still couldn't wrench myself away from its beckoning call.

"He were an abusive man who hit Shūhei whene'er he got mad, like it were 'is fault that 'is wife left 'im and their life were in bits." His voice began to break with anger. Blind rage. Kurosaki was a dangerous man when he was angry; that much I could tell. "So 'guy 'its 'nd 'its Shūhei but it ain't enough. He kidnaps a ton'a kids 'nd starts 'training' us to help 'im kill 'is wife. 'Guy were too much of a wimp to kill 'er 'imself so he has us do it." He paused and swallowed a litreof air. "I killed a chick… Tōshirō, I killed someone. 'nd I did it 'cause I was on fuckin' drugs. Two things. Two things I told meself I'd never do 'nd tha' was takin' drugs or killin' someone. I did fuckin' both of them…"

I wasn't even sure how to react that that. I considered acting a little more surprised but I didn't think that he needed that. It was safe to assume he'd had enough of people gasping melodramatically at his life story. "You said that Hisagi was only there four years," I breathed slowly, carefully.

He shrugged. "Wa'n't plannin' on tellin' 'whole story. We figured we'd just say we both got kidnapped if it ever came up."

I offered him a nervous smile. "You should've figured it'd come up. Should've figured that someone would figure it out as well. "

He didn't bother answering. He turned back to the oh-so-interesting black space in front of him, that coincidently was now slightly yellow with artificial light. There was a dilapidating pub whose name I couldn't make out from the sign being half scratched off and hanging upside down from one nail. Karakura town was a wasteland; a post-apocalyptic style reservation where only druggies and prostitutes seemed to settle. It was hardly the place you would want to escape to, so why anyone would migrate to this place under _any_ circumstances was a matter beyond my ignorant comprehension.

"You should go back to Yorkshire. This place ain't safe," I warned. "Too many druggies."

There was yet more silence. "How'd you know I'm from Yorkshire?"

I smiled without looking at him. "Anyone can tell that accent a mile off."

"Shoul'n't you think tha' if I'm British then 'm some posh twat?"

I laughed out loud. The noise echoed from somewhere and it was slightly disconcerting. "Nah. Maybe some other guy but I can tell you're Yorkshire. So why'd you come here of all places?"

He slid from the wall and plopped down quite ungracefully on the floor, seemingly uncaring of the wet leaves and dirt that would undoubtedly stain his coat. He scrubbed the back of his neck with a fist then rested the hand on his drawn up knees.

"I'm clean," he said. "I got over 'drugs pretty quick. It's Shūhei. He can't go five minutes without 'em. 'heard there was a good rehab centre here so Dad goes 'Great! Off to Karakura we go!" He tilted his head back and rested it on the wall. A chilled breeze appeared seemingly out of nowhere and I watched somewhat dazed as his carroty hair ruffled in the wind. "Had to pull me sisters outta school for it n'all."

His story didn't make sense now. He hadn't planned on telling the whole thing, so hiding little bits was difficult. There were parts that didn't fit; little scraps of information that didn't work together. He wasn't lying to me, because everything he said was true. He was just leaving things out. Things I wanted to know.

"Why?" was the main question that came to mind. "You're clean, so why'd you have to come here? Quit leaving things out."

He chuckled darkly. "You can figure it out, can't you?"

I smirked. Of course I could. I just wanted him to say the words himself. _Give me a little credit. _I was by no means a genius but I had common sense. Hisagi was the son of a kidnapper stroke murderer who (sort of) killed his wife. Hisagi would have no mother and when caught his father would be taken away. Hisagi was by law an orphan. Nowhere to go, no one to love him; he was a sad child living a sad life of total isolation. I tried to sympathise, tried to empathise with him but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to do it. Sure, I was fostered. Yes, my parents killed themselves and damn nearly took me down with them. I was, myself, a gauche orphan living in this desecrated town; nowhere to go and no one to love him… but how could I empathise? I didn't want to. I didn't want to associate myself with something like that. I'd learned to accept the fact that my parents were… well… what they were. It became the norm, something mundane that seemed just too ordinary to ever seem out of place. His story seemed much, much worse than mine when in reality it was probably only just that little bit more hellacious - simply because more children were involved.

But none of that mattered. Kurosaki's parents had taken it upon themselves to adopt Hisagi for whatever reason and now the two kids were like brothers. Attached at the hip and inseparable. Still, more questions burned my tongue, eager to be asked; wanting to indulge.

No need to scare him away, though. Maybe just a few. "Why do you go, then?"

"Keep him company," he chuckled. "Might not look like it but 'guy's a wuss really. Most insecure guy I ever met. Only dressed like that 'cause I told 'im to. He's 'andsome, just don't see it. Thought if he dressed like tha' then he'd get a girl or somthin'. Looks like he were lucky." He let go of his knees and stuck his legs straight out in front of him. Another breeze induced by yet another car made his hair flutter. He smiled a small smile. "He di'n't get those tattoos by his own choice, y'know. Had those since he were a lad. 'is Dad made 'im do it, mind you. Thought it'd be _funny._" His voice suddenly brightened with something resembling pride. "'s a miracle he can walk around 'way he does. Must've been terrible for 'im."

I took a note of that uplifting tone of his voice. I don't think I should have even tried to fathom what the two of them had been through. I wondered how they had fared the first few times. Maybe he'd tied them up, subdued them somehow just to deter their feeble attempts to wrench free from his clutches. Maybe he'd gagged them. Maybe he simply just broken them - broke their bones, broke their spirits; broke what little of their will they had until they were just lifeless dolls that he could play with to his heart's content. A puppeteer. Maybe the first few times they writhed and squirmed, trying desperately to evade that needle containing the poison that they would learn to love. Maybe their struggles would have been meagre. Maybe they sat limp while he advanced towards them, quietly begging for him to do anything but that. My thoughts grew darker. I'd been alone; nobody had ever told me when the malevolent thoughts should stop. There was no one to tell me that I shouldn't have been thinking of young men frothing at the mouth, physically salivating at the sight of the syringe that they learned to love so fervently after only a few injections. I shouldn't have thought of the pure ecstasy across their features when the plunger was pushed. After all, I'd been alone. No one told me what I should and shouldn't think.

But just this once I knew that it was wrong. Their body may have welcomed the venom with open arms but their minds screamed that it was wrong. That much I could tell.

Even so, there was no way I could understand the bond between these two. Even if I did own some sort of social skills I could never comprehend just how the two of them worked together. They'd been through a lot and you were an idiot if you said otherwise.

"I wouldn't have thought he was insecure," I stated simply. I gripped the wall and swung my legs similar to how he had done a few minutes ago. I kicked the stone a few times and I could feel my shoes rotting away from the treatment.

"Ooh aye," he said and I felt something melt. "Woul'n't you be?"

I didn't even have to think about it. I most certainly was insecure.

The conversation seemed to have stopped round about there and to be frank I wasn't all too bothered. Not that I didn't enjoy talking to the carrot-top, because I did… immensely so; just my ineptitude to talk to another human being for more than a few minutes was starting to kick in and the pain behind my eyes was returning. It was a bad, awkward habit that I would have to rid myself of one day. So instead I focused on a drunken brawl that had broken out in front of the bar across the road; one I had assumed had been abandoned due to disrepair. Two guys stumbled around apathetically, throwing curses and insults at one another mainly because of the friends egging them on rather than the desire to fight one another. One of them waved his bottle around over his head but ended up dropping it in his current lack of dexterity or soundness of mind. He stared at the broken glass scattered around his feet, giggled and then hiccupped before mumbling something incoherent and falling over. He promptly appeared to fall asleep, curling his arms around himself and pulling his knees to his chin. His inebriated friend stared at him for a long while, before holding his own bottle in the air as a sign of victory and falling over himself. I wondered just how drunk the two had to be to act like _that_.

Kurosaki appeared to have been watching the same thing and didn't even try to suppress his snorts of laughter. "Drunk guys never fail to amuse me."

I smirked and watched the mob surrounding the two look around helplessly, wondering what to do about the two comatose men. "I know the feeling."

Eventually, the mob dissipated and stumbled away - some into the pub and some onto the streets. Nobody cared about a guy when he wasn't awake. Law number one of Karakura: Survival of the fittest… or at least of the most conscious.

Kurosaki frowned. "Should we help him?"

"Nah," I shook my head. "They'll wake up in a bit. It's their own fault for getting themselves drunk."

The carrot-top made a move to stand up. "Well I dunno about here, but in Yorkshire when ya' see a man down ya' go 'nd help him."

I kicked a foot out in front of him to stop him. "And in Karakura if a guy is down then you leave him down 'cause it's probably his own fault for being there."

He stayed ready for a while, waiting for my leg to tire so he could move anyway. He could have easily gone around my foot but that would have ruined my point. I liked that. Sometimes you have to make a point and even if there's a way round it a person's got to go with it. If you don't then you're just ignorant. Kurosaki seemed to understand that. So when my leg didn't move he gave an acquiescent sigh and flopped back down, an eye still wary of the two unconscious men for any signs of movement. I placed my leg back by my other.

"So were you?"

I turned to him. "Hm?"

He grinned a little. One of the men on the other side of the road lifted his head a little and twisted it around. He emitted quite a loud and vulgar _'The fuck'm I doin' here?' _I assumed that 'here' was the ground. "You know… 'checkin' me out'?"

"Oh?" I grinned right back at him. So we were on this topic now? "Your point?"

"Well," he started, putting his hands behind his head and turning to me with that dopey grin that had my innards turning to goo. "'m pretty sure you can tell that Shūhei don't swing that way now, even if you coul'n't from 'is clothes." His smile grew yet haughtier. "And I know that you weren't lookin' at 'im."

"Well," I started in a mock accent which I quickly dropped. "I'll have you know that I was 'checking him out', as you say." I paused for effect. "Just I stopped doing it when I saw you."

"And then you started checkin' me out?"

"Pretty much."

"Well ain't that an ego booster."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. The ache in my head was gone; evanesced like it had never been there to start with. Kurosaki was an interesting man to talk to, that much was evident. My laughter never even subsided. It bubbled away for a good few seconds, maybe even longer. Laughter. It was an indulgence so many took for granted. When you lived the life I had you grew to appreciate the times when you laughed; when something sincerely made you smile and belt out your contentment. The chuckles did eventually die down, and I ended it with a contented sigh and turned to face him again.

"How so?" Conversation had never flowed this freely.

He smirked and turned on his side, resting somewhat painfully on his hip and propping his elbow up on the wall beside him to rest his hand on his cheek. It did not look like a comfortable position at all, but no discomfort was clear on his face. "Well here's a cute guy like yerself checkin' me out. Bit of a compliment, dontcha think?"

A pink tinge began to creep up my neck. _Cute? _He was kidding, right? I was repulsive. Bags under my eyes were a purplish colour that made me look like a gaunt, old man with some kind of life draining disease. My fingers were slim to the point of being skeletal, along with the rest of my body. Malnourishment and lack of exercise meant that I had no tone… just bones. Just skin and bones. My hair was rarely combed and looked like that of an old man's. The stupid bleach had ruined it beyond repair, so it was dry and stuck together awkwardly in clumps I turned away from him, the biting retort stuck in my throat and I quickly forgot what I wanted to say anyway. Things like that made me feel uncomfortable; abnormally so, seeing as I rarely heard them. In fact… I never once remembered being complimented.

"Hmph," I finally said lamely. He chuckled and rested a hand on my shoulder. The muscle tensed slightly but I didn't jerk away. I liked the feeling too much. Maybe he didn't think I was as repulsive as I was. After all, he had to have some kind of difficulty comprehending the real world.

"What, ya' don't believe me?" His voice wavered on some unknown line between puzzled and amused. The free hand that had been resting on the ground started to wave vaguely in a circle that seemed to be gesturing to my face. "Yer handsome. Must've been told tha', right?"

I shook my head, half in disagreement and half to try and waft the blush away. "I don't know if you hadn't noticed, but you live in Karakura now. Nobody says stuff like that."

Dropping his hand, he cocked his head towards me. "Well maybe they should."

The blush started to creep back up again. Fucking smooth talker and his English accent…

I hoped he would drop the subject with that said but he didn't seem to. His gaze darted around for a couple of seconds until he stared at me again. He shunted up the wall and sat upright once more, legs crossed and hands resting languidly between them. His head tilted a little and his eyes glistened like a puppy's. "Go out with me."

Well any chance of the blush disappearing was officially gone. "Huh?"

He chuckled lowly. "Go out with me," he repeated. "Y'know. Like, on a date."

I stared at him blankly. He was gay? That was new. English people weren't gay. Well, police officers were. I'd heard of a guy named Banksy who drew some pretty cool graffiti on the walls of London, and one was of two policemen making out. Ever since I'd vehemently believed that all policemen were gay. But that was beside the point. The urge to say 'no' was bitter on my tongue, but also resolute. My head screamed at me that this was a bad idea. That there was no way that he was doing this because he liked me. I felt like such a girl for feeling it but I couldn't help but distrust the guy now he said those four words. _Go out with me. _It wasn't even a question. He wasn't even asking for my opinion. It was like he was so sure of himself that I would say yes that there wasn't a need for a question. I'd show him. I was Hitsugaya Tōshirō - number one drug addict and rebel of Karakura Town. Nobody told me what to do.

"Sure."

_Wait, what?_

The answer had come out without me even thinking about it. The moment it left my mouth I instantly regretted it. I didn't want this. Why had I accepted? I wasn't the type of person who went on dates. I had never imagined myself being that kind of person and even now with the offer on the table it was difficult to picture myself in a cinema or some fancy restaurant. I imagined that if I ever had some kind of relationship, it would be purely for the sex. No talking, no kisses; no pretences. Purely sex. The dopey smile on his face and the way he sat bolt upright with something resembling glee told me that I was in it for the long haul. _Shit. _He seemed happy, inordinately so. But I hadn't meant that. Could I get away with just taking it back? Yelling 'PSYCH' and running away like the crazy, drugged up person I was? I doubted it.

… but I wanted it really. I had been checking him out, after all.

"Awesome!" He cried and I felt a little sorry for him. I'd be a disappointment - without a doubt. He was too nice for someone like me to hurt him like this. He stood up and patted the dirt off his ass, looking around as he talked to make sure he got all of the leaves off his trousers. "You free tomorrow lunch? There's that Café Benihime or somethin' that's s'pposed to be nice. Meet'cha there?"

"Yeah, sure," I squeaked. What was I letting myself in for?

He finished dusting himself off and turned back to me, smiling. "Great. I'll see you at twelve."

"Yup!"

I must have sounded constipated or something because his brows suddenly furrowed and he peered at me intently. His lips pursed and he looked me over like I was a prized dog on display.

"Ya' dun seem as pissed as I thought'cha'd be."

_Huh? I didn't remember it like that. _He said something else. In fact, hadn't he left after he'd said the time? I clutched at my head as a migraine bubbled up inside my head. It hurt and I whimpered pathetically at the pain behind my eyes. Kurosaki didn't even appear to blink at my discomfort. Why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't he helping? With a gasp my vision wavered and blurred. Kurosaki started to disappear before my eyes. _Where's he going? _I called his name but no sound came out. I tried again but the words got caught in my throat. _Come back! _I tried desperately to call to him but his figure simply rippled, smearing across my vision like a reflection in water. I was so confused. What the hell was happening? Was I high or something? The background started to form another moiré pattern that undulated in the opposite direction to the carrot-top and when I called out to him again the noise finally came.

"Huh?"

* * *

><p>"Huh?"<p>

"I said 'Ya' dun seem as pissed as I thought'cha'd be.'"

My eyes screwed shut when the voice interrupted my dreams and it took me a little too long to realise where I was. It was cold; cold and wet. But that didn't really narrow it down by much so I started to let my eyes flutter open. Only one earphone was still plugged into my head, so the dulcet sound of violins and harmonising voices only gratified one ear. I blinked a few times when the harsh glare from the street lamps hit my eyes. I couldn't see properly for much too long when I adjusted to the light, but then in a sudden moment of realisation I remembered where I was. A drop of water from my hair fell onto my nose with a quiet 'drip'. I was outside _Benihime _listening to _Electric Daisy Violin _whilst waiting for Kurosaki to arrive. When my vision finally cleared I realised that said Kurosaki was stood outside the alcove, looking much like a drowned rat himself. He shivered violently, hair plastered to his forehead and a forlorn, contrite grin on his face. He was stood a few feet away from me, rain pelting down on him so hard and fast that it had to be painful. It was the epitome of sorry sights, a scene straight from a fifties romance movie, but there was no doubt in my mind that I was glad he was there - no matter how dejected and apologetic he looked. But even though he looked like shit, he still managed to pull that smile I loved.

"I fell asleep," I muttered groggily, moving to sit up from my slumped position and pulling the earphone out. I pressed a few buttons on the iPod to turn it off before it got too wet and stuffed it into my pocket. "I was planning on yelling at you but I guess that's not gonna work now."

He chuckled his low chuckle and it was only then that I noticed that he was holding something; something that made me blush quite violently. I stared open mouthed at the object in his hands. _No fucking way. _He didn't seem to notice the red painted across my cheeks until about a minute of silence, and even then he didn't even understand why it made me flush so violently.

"Y-you actually bought those?" I stuttered, nodding towards the bunch of purple flowers that he gripped in one hand. _No way. _He was not, I repeat: _not, _planning on giving me those. That was just so… girly!

He glanced at the bunch of violets and recollection flashed across his features. "Oh yeah!" He stuck them out dumbly in front of his torso, offering them to me. "I figure tha' I were an hour late anyway, so ya' coul'n't get any madder if I went and gotcha somethin' to apologise with." He pushed them forwards a little to encourage me to take them. "Sorry 'm late."

I couldn't seem to do anything but stare at him. I was in the middle of trying to stand up, so I stood with one leg in a crouched position and one stuck out in front of me so it was a miracle I hadn't fallen over yet. I blinked once, twice… before finally giving in and laughing - dropping onto the ground with a thud. The laughter wouldn't stop. It was harsh, cruel laughter and when I managed to look at Kurosaki's face through tear blurred eyes I could see the hurt was clear. I felt terrible; awful even because it was a kind gesture. But his _face _was just so. Damn. Funny. I clutched at my stomach when it began to ache from laughing too hard. _Stop fucking laughing! _I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but the mad laughing just _wasn't stopping. _

"S-sorry!" I choked between giggles. "It's not… not funny! J-just y-your… y-your face- Oh God…" Then the laughter started up again. I barely heard him sigh from my chuckling. I honestly wasn't trying to make him feel bad. He just looked so expectant, like a puppy begging for treats. In this case, he was begging for forgiveness. So it wasn't funny really. The ache in my chest finally became too much and I began to regain sanity. The harsh laughs faded to low chuckles then, eventually, I could wipe the tears from my eyes with a few amused sniffs. I was bright red and my head hurt. Still, I looked at Kurosaki with all the sincerity I could muster. The disappointment on his features was heart breaking. I bit my lip. That really was mean of me.

"Sorry…" I mumbled. I succeeded in standing up and began to stride towards him. "I didn't mean it." When I stood close to him, I picked up one of his icy hands and held it between mine. I sighed contentedly. It had only been a week but I had forgotten how god damned _nice _it was to feel Kurosaki's skin. He tilted his head towards me with that stupid grin of his adorning his face perfectly. I loved how happy he seemed when he saw me. It was like his face lit up. It gave me some kind of confidence; some kind of confirmation that I wasn't so pathetic as I always thought - the kind of reassurance I desperately needed. I wanted to be closer to him. With one hand, I held his. Fingers intertwined and laced together in a tight knot that I knew I would be reluctant to relinquish. With the other, I plucked the flowers from him and held them tightly to my chest, mouthing the word _'Mine'_. His eyes fluttered shut, still grinning madly. _So very nice… _A few months ago I refused to touch anyone. A few months ago I would have run away, heart beating sporadically and sweat dripping from my forehead, if anyone touched me.

A few months ago I didn't know Kurosaki Ichigo.

"Come 'ere," he muttered in that brogue I had learned to love and he leaned down to get to my level. Knowing what he wanted, I leaned up and crushed my lips against his. We moved together in sync, my arm curling around his neck to pull him as close as I could. It was awkward, holding his head and the bundle of flora at the same time but neither of us seemed to mind. I still clutched at his hand with numb fingers; still felt the rain drip down my forehead and onto our cold lips. Everything moved so smoothly, so silkily when we were glistening with water. I didn't need to open my eyes to see the slickness of Kurosaki's face as the liquid formed a perfect sheen over his skin, highlighting every bone and every bit of flesh to perfection. He would be flawless; there was no doubt about it. But I didn't want to see it. I'd feel it with every bone in my body; melt into the kiss like it was the first and last thing I ever experienced. I wanted to run my hand through his hair but the flowers were in the way. They were growing on me, these now drenched violets. They denoted everything we had: the apologies, the tenderness - the purity that our relationship still withheld. Kissing in the rain. It was quite enjoyable, wasn't it?

I tore away to gasp for air. I rested my forehead against his and breathed heavily as his breath ghosted over my lips.

"Should we go inside?" I whispered. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay here forever and kiss Kurosaki until Hell froze over. But then again, _I'd_ fucking freeze over if we didn't get out of the rain soon.

I barely saw the smile through my half lidded eyes. "Mmh."

* * *

><p><em><strong>* Hinamori was spelled wrong intentionally. I was referring to Hinamori Momo, however by replacing the 'n' with an 'm', Hinamori becomes Himamori which means 'spare time'. It's a common pun in 'Shugo Chara' XD (I am not ashamed that I like that show)<strong>_

_**Okay, so that's not really where I planned on leaving this. Well, I thought that I would finish this entire thing in 10,000 words but obviously that was a bit of a long shot ._.; So anyway. There's better places I could have put a marker in but here will have to do. I did not get enough time to write this thing XD The ending's a little rushed as well… sorry ^^; I'll edit this later. Now Mum's threatening to turn the internet off.  
><strong>_

_**Why did I decide to make Ichigo and Shūhei Yorkshire? Because I'm Yorkshire and I thought it'd be funny to type like a Yorkshire man. It was. Surprisingly so. I hope you could all understand what I was trying to say, though. Tell me if you couldn't XD I tried not to put too many apostrophes in to make it less confusing… (By the way, the words that have apostrophes in front of them that aren't contracted basically are supposed to have a 'the' in front. I save using "t'_" for 'to the'. I'll stop talking grammar now.)**_

_**Just to let you know, I may have over-emphasized on Shūhei just a little. He sounds like a guy off 'Last of the Summer Wine' XD I talk a little bit like Ichigo, if you wanted to know ^^**_

_**I will be finishing this before I restart 'Shooter'. Sorry if that disappoints anyone, but I'm finding this rather fun to write :)**_

_**P.S. Try doing that thing with your thumb. It doesn't actually hurt and it freaks people out XD**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Sorry this isn't out as soon as I would have hoped. I honestly wanted to write this but I HAVE BEEN BUSY, YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I HAVE BEEN BUSY DOING? *points at link* darkholymagic(.)deviantart(.)com(/)gallery/?catpath=scraps#/d4qmqzi And not only that but I've been super busy with exams and everything. I feel really bad OTL I tried to keep up with my internet life and everything but I just ended up ignoring most of my friends and I feel like a terrible person and I hate school *groan* So I didn't bother reading through this after I was done just so I could get it up at a reasonable date o3o I don't think too much of it should be incomprehensible.**_

_**Well, due to popular demand I decided to update this before Shooter. Sorry if that disappoints anyone ^^; Don't you worry your pretty little heads; Shooter'll come back with a bang and a plot twist ;)**_

_**If you hadn't noticed yet, I'm going to be making these chapters quite long (Not as long as the first one, probably. I'm not trying to keep all these the same length this time, unlike with Shooter). I figure longer chapters less frequently are more impressive than short chapters regularly. Besides, it'll make me feel better if there are fewer chapters, seeing as this **_**was **_**supposed to be a one-shot…**_

_**WARNING: This chapter may make little to no sense, but for the life in me I don't care. I'm being quite daring with what I'm gonna do with this chapter, so bear with me if you will ^^ **_

_**\*-*-*- I FAILED TO REMEMBER THIS BUT GO READ/REVIEW '**__thegirlwithanafro__**''s '**__The A Team__**' now if you already haven't. And the rest of her fics while you're at it. -*-*-*/**_

* * *

><p><em>I fell in love the way you fall asleep; slowly, and then all at once.<em>

_-John Green: The Fault in our Stars_

_**Momentary Delusion: Chapter 2**_

The warm blasts of air from the heater placed clearly over the entrance to _'Benihime' _was an obvious and feeble attempt to make the place seem more homely, yet as Kurosaki led me through the doorway I found myself reluctant to step out of it's gratifying heat. He held my by the shoulders and steered me through the crowds of people and too-close tables towards the counter. His jacket was draped loosely around my torso, embracing me with such familiarity that it was somewhat unnerving. Kurosaki's scent engulfed my senses; clung to me with an ardent fidelity that was as light as ethereal smoke, tender as sweet caresses. My lips were burning from our kiss, tingling with anticipation for whenever said kiss would resume. It made me feel dizzy, happy; like I something had finally gone _right _for me.

I didn't, however, appreciate the judgemental glares of several people sat at the tables. The atmosphere turned a little colder, conversation dying down somewhat as they stared at us. A couple of months ago I might have sneered at them, might have jumped and said 'Boo' just to laugh at their horrified faces. Today, however, I was much too lethargic to care. I shivered violently, just barely able to cling onto the jacket around my shoulders and the bunch of flowers in my blue hands. I definitely wasn't one for PDA, that was a given. But still, they were _mine. _All mine. So when a particular old lady stared at the violets I simply tightened my grip and continued to walk stiffly. Kurosaki himself was shaking from the cold so I felt awash with guilt, but every time I stopped to take the jacket off (Which was quite frequently) he pushed it back onto my shoulders and resumed directing me around tables and chairs.

Overall it was a long, arduous and slightly embarrassing journey to the front counter. People still glared at the backs of our heads and it was a few seconds and a shout from Kurosaki later that a waiter finally dared to approach us.

"Can I help you?" His voice was quiet. Through sceptical eyes I looked him up and down, already noting that he hardly seemed fit to be a waiter. He had shoulder length blond hair that covered one eye, a sullen face and a fragile body that seemed more fitting for an elderly man. His back was hunched a little in anxiety and he titled his head in an attempt to cover his other eye with his fringe. From the lack of people crowding around to laugh and jeer at his apparent demureness I was sure that he was a naturally nervous person. I hadn't seen him before, but then again I'd never been here on a Friday. He might've been new, but he could have just worked a different day to when I normal came to the café. Either way he was a dull and nervous guy who didn't have the friendliness or confidence expected of a waiter. He seemed to have noticed this and made a conscious effort to look Kurosaki in the eye. The sight of him struggling so much had me mentally cheering for him, willing him to look straight at the carrot-top - but there was a mighty disappointment, akin to the despondency of missing a goal at a football match, when his nerves got the better of him and he glanced down at his notepad.

"'ave ya got a towel? This'un's been sat in 'rain for God knows how long. Oh, 'nd a table, if ya've got one."

The man nodded and started scribbling on his notepad. It took him a few seconds, but he eventually jumped and scratched the words out when he remembered that a towel and a table did not classify as an order. He mumbled something inaudible and tottered away to find a cloth.

It was a little odd that even though Kurosaki was completely open about our relationship, I wasn't. The infamy that I held for being 'out of the know' also stretched to not giving a damn what people thought. So when I shrunk back into the carrot-top when in public it was undoubtedly going to draw attention. People who knew me expected me to parade around, towing him along behind me, and indulge in quite physical public displays of affection. True; I would happy wander around aimlessly when I was drunk or high or just bored, casually cursing at whomever I so felt like… but with Kurosaki the upstanding citizen in me seemed to take charge. I was like a dog on a leash; walking by his heel wherever he took me and standing still if I was supposed to. The carrot-top, however, seemed to be less bothered about offending passersby. _He_ was quite happy to pull me into a passionate kiss whenever he felt that way inclined, would drag me around like _I_ was arm candy. He seemed proud to have me, a notion I never quite grasped. Either way, a little discretion would have been appreciated.

A lithe set of fingers began to play with my hair, tousling it and sending stray drops of water flying across the counter and onto the floor. With an amused sniff I shook my head and managed to wet the entire front of his shirt, which had been dry and protected by the jacket that I was now wearing. His body jerked backwards with the cold of the water. I laughed. His lips pressed together in a tight line, but he was fighting down a smile. He released his grip on my shoulders, reached up to his hair and grabbed a clump. He wrung it out, careful to capture all the moisture in his palm. I probably should have seen the hand coming for my face, but it was only when the water was dripping off my nose and I was spitting it out of my mouth that I realised what had actually happened. I slowly and dramatically dried my face with my forearm, and then shot him a devious glare that said _'It's on'_.

The next minute or so was an all out war to try and wet the other as much as we could. It was difficult, seeing as there wasn't all that much water that we could get to, so we ended up just shaking our heads to flick little droplets at each other. We must have caught an elderly couple in the crossfire because they seemed to be glaring at us with deathly eyes. I nearly choked when I saw Kurosaki raise his hand to wave at the two. I batted it down with a hiss. "What are you doing?"

He blinked innocently. "Well, they were starin' at us."

I felt like someone had slapped me. He was such an idiot, sometimes. Lucky he was cute. "That doesn't mean you have to wave at them. You really should really try to blend in sometimes."

Fruitless words if there ever were any. He snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his body, tilting my head up to look at me. A crooked grin adorned his face and his eyes glinted mischievously. His hand pressed against the small of my back to pull me ever closer to him and what little chatter there was to begin with died down to almost nothing when he pressed his lips to mine. My back undulated with surprising litheness at the treatment, so he leaned further down to accommodate for it. He didn't bother with a single, prudish, kiss. He was making a point, attacking my lips with such brusque heat that I would be scarred, marked, _branded _by his touch. His tongue coerced its way through my tight lips and I was powerless to stop it. Red burned my cheeks and I felt something close to embarrassment when he sighed contentedly. I reiterate: PDA was not my thing. But we'd started anyway so I wanted to enjoy it anyway. I pressed two shaking hands to his chest and gripped the sodden shirt, pulling myself closer to him. Why, just _why _was it that I lost myself every time he did this? Every single _fucking time _he so much as touched me I couldn't help but find myself willingly jumping into the fire, cauterizing every single wound with his incandescent touch that was just too addictive; too intoxicating for me to resist. I _worshipped _the way his lips moved against mine, possessive and fierce. With surprising fervency, I abandoned the violets on the countertop and wrapped my arms around his neck, growling a little as I pulled myself up into him.

A nervous cough broke us apart and we stared, dishevelled and panting, at the waiter who was holding out two towels in front of his chest, head now completely turned away from us. He seemed to be blushing even more vehemently than I was. Not one to be discouraged, Kurosaki threw a dazzling smile his way, not noticing that the man wasn't even looking. He plucked the two towels out of his hands and gave one to me.

"Ta, mate. About that table?"

Light conversation was too much for the poor soul and he avoided all eye contact as he pointed towards a table in the corner by the window. It was the one with no people in the neighbouring seats. How appeasing. I snatched up the flowers and followed the two of them to the table, finally shrugging off the jacket and folding it in the crook of my arm to return to Kurosaki. Said Kurosaki pulled out a chair for me to sit on and frowned somewhat when he saw the coat in my elbow.

"Ya shouldn'ta taken tha' off," he scolded with no real fervour behind the words.

Once in my seat and taking a few seconds too long to adjust my position (just to make him wait) I twisted to him and held the jacket out in front of my torso with straight arms. I made sure the dopey grin was on my face before pushing my arms forward just a little to help prove my point. His shoulders sagged and his brow rose when he realised what I was doing. I nearly laughed at the hand on his cocked hip. He was such a chick when he wanted to be.

"Really? Is that _really_ necessary?" He feigned mirthlessness.

With a slight grin, I just had to continue. "_'m sorry._"

Trying to hide the smirk about to bubble to the surface, he snatched the coat out of my hands and stalked with unnecessary spite to his seat across the table. He adjusted himself dramatically, shook a napkin so it billowed out in front of him then let the cloth go to drift languidly onto his lap. He then proceeded to rub his hair with the tea towel. I did the same.

"I'll 'ave a cuppa and chocolate cake." The words were muffled as he wiped his face with the cloth. I opened my mouth to speak but he pulled the towel away from his mouth before I could. "Same for 'im."

The blonde stared blankly at the air beside Kurosaki, still not daring to meet his gaze. His thin brows were knitted together in a tight line in slight confusion. His mouth was pursed somewhat and his lips moved ever so slightly as he went over the conversation in his head again, trying to see if he had missed something. When no understanding became clear across his face, his confusion quickly turned to helplessness and his cheeks turned red. Of course he was confused - he didn't speak Yorkshire.

"He means a pot of tea," I confirmed, still drying my hair with the towel. Said towel was now too saturated to really be of much use but I still rolled the fabric around my head. I wrung the towel out on the floor (which I was glad wasn't carpet) and resumed my drying ritual.

A little 'O' of realisation formed on his mouth and he scribbled a note down before taking off for the kitchen.

Kurosaki stared after him, looking a little despondent. "T'uther guy knows what a cuppa is…" His lips shrunk to a small pout of obstinacy, like it was the waiter's fault for not knowing Yorkshire dialect.

I rested my cheek on my fist, still languidly scrubbing at the back of my head with the towel. "That's 'cause you almost beat it into him the first time you came here."

His head cocked like a bird's. "I don't remember tha'."

I blinked. "What? How the hell don't you remember it?" I laughed once then dropped the towel and leaned back in my chair, arms spread out to the side as if I wanted a hug. "You asked for a cuppa and when he didn't know what you meant you had a right go at him! You're lucky we didn't get kicked out!" My hands dropped by my sides.

His gaze averted to the corner, chin in palm and pointer finger tapping his cheek lightly whilst he thought. He mouthed a few words as he tried to remember that fateful day. "Guy… cuppa… didn't know… Oh! Oh yeah, you're right!" He sat a little taller and ceased to tap the finger against his face, instead pointing it my way. "And I did _not_ 'ave a go at him. He just tol' 'im what a cuppa was an' went on me way."

I jerked a brow up. "You accused him of being racist for offending your Yorkshire customs, yelled at him then wondered why he didn't want to serve you."

He waved a hand nonchalantly and looked away from me, still grinning madly. "T'were unprofessional of 'im."

"You said he was racist, what do you expect?"

"Him not to be racist," he conceded with a raise of his brow and tilt of his head.

I rolled my eyes and proceeded to stare out of the window and into the street. Rain still pattered down persistently on the asphalt outside. It had to have been a good few hours since the downpour had begun, so why the streets weren't currently flooded was a mystery. The drainage system must have been better than the town's outer appearance would suggest. The water that formed a glistening sheen down the window obscured my view slightly, but there wasn't much to see anyway. All normal people had abandoned trying to leave the house, and only a few pedestrians sprinted across the roads and along the pavements, clutching items over their heads in a sore attempt to keep themselves dry. It was an odd habit for people, holding completely un-waterproofed items over their head to ultimately wet both their hair and the makeshift hat. I'd never seen the point, so I had opted to soak my hair every time. The clouds came in thick and heavy, casting a dark shadow over the cold town of Karakura; one so dark that the street lights were dim-witted enough to flicker to life (flicker being the correct word, seeing as they were broken beyond belief and burned a dull orange for a good minute or two before finally deciding to provide some half-decent light). And still… still that honeyed sound of water meeting concrete drifted lazily to my ears, like a million needles dropping. My eyes fluttered shut and I inhaled deeply, almost smelling the sweet tang it provided. The only thing I liked more about rain than sitting in it was the smell of it. Pungent, sweet, flavourful… there wasn't even a word to describe the smell of rain other than it smelled like rain. That was a good enough explanation for me.

"Why di'n't ya sit inside?"

I ordinarily may have snapped at the interruption, but for some reason I was glad for it. The silence had not been awkward, quite the opposite even. I enjoyed silence with Kurosaki. Words went unspoken between us. I didn't look at him yet, still stared out of the window and at the raindrops hammering down. No, having my dark thoughts disrupted by that brogue was far from unpleasant. "Not sure. Thought I'd wait outside for you."

I imagined him to frown. "It'd've made more sense to wait inside."

With a quick shrug I abandoned the window and stared at him; chin in palm and ankle across my knee. "I'd probably look like a loner if I was sat pining out of the window."

A thin, orange brow rose. "Oh? So ya pine for me when 'm not there?" He leaned back in his chair, seemingly looking as though he'd won something.

The next sentence seemed to be stuck in my throat. I'd done it again. The carrot-top had an air about him which made me feel safe, like I could admit anything when I was around him, like he wouldn't judge me for it. He'd sit there with his benevolent grin slapped across his face like it had been painted on, staring at me with glassy eyes and an intrigued twitch of his brow and I always felt that unrelenting need to spill whatever it was he was trying to get out of me. It was new, unfamiliar. Not unlikeable, definitely not unlikeable, but it still had the annoying outcome of managing to get me to admit things I never quite wanted to admit. For example, how I did in fact pine for him when he wasn't there.

"Well," I began, blush spreading across my cheeks. I tried to think of an argument, but came up short - another side effect of the strawberry. "Yeah, I guess."

He chuckled and I looked away. _That _annoyed me about Kurosaki - he laughed at me. It might have been with me, but to be fair I was rarely participating so I assumed it was the former. The chuckles grew in volume as I turned ever redder, and I felt a set of soft fingers rubbing over mine. They caressed the crevices where my fingers met, probed at the gaps and stroked them again ever so gently. I felt myself willingly open my hand for him, not skipping a breath when his fingers entwined with mine. Sure, his touch still made my heart pound more than should be healthy and I found it hard to keep what little sanity I owned when his fingers traipsed over my skin oh so languidly… but I'd learned to hide that. It was the norm, bordering mundane. I'd grown used to him pretending like I was something, something beautiful. It was a lie… but not bad. Never bad.

"Y'ain't got owt to be shy 'bout," he drawled. He turned my gaze towards him and found a small part of me die inside when I saw those chocolate eyes, deep with sincerity and half lidded with something like fatigue. "I were pinin' over ya' as well, if it's any consolation." His thumb drew one, thick line over the back of my hand.

I nearly conceded there; nearly gave into the urge to leap across the table and jump into his arms and never let go. I'd bury my nose in the crook of his neck and just _smell _him, inhale all his gentleness and his sweet talking. I wanted to press my lips against his with avid fervency, let go and finally just enjoy him for what he was. Any principles I may have had about kissing in public and laying my feelings on the table went straight out the window and into the rain, for I could _not… _I could _never _resist him when he turned like this: overly sentimental and treating me so kindly, so adoringly. Blood rushed straight to my face but I didn't even care enough to hide the blush. Instead I stared straight at him, eyes wide and blazing. His chin was back in his palm and the chocolate eyes were now closed happily, his smile small and thin rather than wide and toothy.

"Y'always do tha', dontcha?"

"Do what?"

"Y'know," and he waved a hand loosely as if it was helping his case. "Blush whenever I say owt nice 'bout'cha, refuse to look at me whenever I say owt nice 'bout'cha… y'ain't so good at taking compliments, are ya?"

As if to prove his point I averted my gaze with another fierce blush across my cheeks. "Shut up…"

He chuckled lowly, then picked up his fork and delved into a piece of cake. I hadn't even notice the waiter bring the food - he'd probably honed his ninja skills for the time when he was too nervous to confront a customer more than was needed. He wasn't the most suited man for this profession, I noted dryly whilst reaching to try the tea from the porcelain cup. The mug burned my skin a little and as I sipped the tea I felt my tongue tingle as the liquid seared in my mouth, but I still gulped it down greedily.

Every Sunday for lunch we would come to _Benihime, _the place where we'd had our first… outing. 'Date' sounds too tacky, too cliché. It was a favourite of ours, and normally we got on well with the staff who worked there. The man who knew what a 'cuppa' was, was called 'Ichimaru Gin', a long faced man with silvery hair and a body that seemed too thin for a man his age and status. There were a few others whose faces I knew but never indulged in asking of their names. It was habitual now, a part of my routine that was as normal as brushing my teeth or eating my breakfast. It was organised, planned - you could always count on Kurosaki to give what you expected. Yes, every Sunday we would meet there at twelve o' clock, without fail. We would always buy banana cake and coffee, without fail. And, of course, he would always pay. Without fail. I might have found this to sting a little, for the inclination that I was poor might have hurt me somehow. I was, in fact, very poor… but I didn't like to let that on. I must have let something slip, though, because I doubted Kurosaki would always reject my offers to pay unless he knew something bad would come of it. If the pain I would suffer from spending money was more than the pain of having my consideration rejected then he would, without fail, choose the latter. I guess I was somewhat grateful for that.

So as I stared at my chocolate cake and cup of tea on a Friday evening I knew that something was wrong. It felt irregular, out of rhythm. I shouldn't be sat in _this _café on any day other than Sunday. Kurosaki must have seen me staring at the mug with a perplexed look on my face, because he took the fork out of his mouth and set it down on his plate. He then folded his arms and leaned into his chair a little.

"Do you _honestly_ have no idea why we're here?" Incredulity was thick and the umbrage was clear.

I suddenly felt extremely small and feeble. My shoulders hunched and I glared at the cup nestled between my hands. I was supposed to know? I didn't recall anything happening today, nothing special at least. I cast my mind back to the day when he'd decided we were changing plans. When I asked why we weren't going on Sunday as normal he stared at me as though I was stupid… then laughed out loud and patted me on the shoulder, saying _'You'll see', _to which he left abruptly. But even now I couldn't remember why it was such an important day. Hell, I didn't even remember the date.

"Should I?" I finally asked quietly.

The smile he offered me was small, condescending almost - like he pitied me. For once I didn't take offence. I probably deserved it. Instead, I watched anxiously as he delved into his trouser pocket and rummaged around for a while. His tongue was peeking out the corner of his mouth comically and his eyes were screwed in concentration. He eventually pulled out a small package wrapped in white and placed it on the table. He then delved into his other pocket and brought out several more parcels and placed them next to the rectangular shaped package on the table. After hunting through a few other pockets that I didn't know existed, there were now six items wrapped in white paper sat in a line across the table. They were gifts.

Something caught in my throat as I finally remembered the month. "It's my birthday, isn't it?"

He grinned and gave me a double 'thumbs-up.' "Bingo!"

I felt as though I had been slapped across the face. How the hell had I forgotten my birthday? I should have been excited the night before, unable to sleep for excitement of what presents I was going to receive. I should have been planning a house party with enough alcohol to inebriate the entire city. I should have written pages and pages of items that I wanted, circling the ones I would especially like in red and stapling it to Kurosaki's face in the weeks leading up to the day - just to make sure he was prepared. But no. I was Hitsugaya Tōshirō - adopted son of two people whose names I had forgotten long ago seeing as they couldn't be bothered trying to remember mine. They barely knew I existed, let alone cared enough to buy me something as menial as a birthday gift. If I told them that it was my birthday they would have forgotten in the next minute, too intoxicated to remember if there was another person in the room - let alone if he had spoken to them. I could have wallowed in pity, could have spilled everything then and there about my family and how absolutely _shit _it was, but I didn't. It was normal for me. I'd never received a present, never celebrated a birthday… not in the traditional way. I never wanted to remember my father's 'birthday gifts'. So I wasn't even surprised that I'd forgotten. It was never an important date to begin with.

So why did I find it so shocking, so horrifying that I didn't remember?

But then another thought occurred to me. "Shit, that means it's Christmas soon, doesn't it?"

"S'alright. Ya don't 'ave to buy me anything, y'know."

"Yeah but-"

"No buts." He leaned across the table towards me, closing the gap inch by inch and taking hold of my hand again, still burning from his previous touches. His eyes turned dark and he grinned playfully. "Besides, ya already promised me what ya'd get me, di'n't ya?"

My eyes widened in realisation. _Oh. That _promise. My muscles began to tense at that reminder, that horrid reminder of just what the strawberry could do to me. Blood drained from my face in something resembling fear, something resembling pure terror. It had been a month ago, at this very table on a Sunday lunch with a piece of banana cake and a cup of coffee. I'd just put my first mouthful of cake in my mouth when he said 'Are you a virgin?', to which I choked on my food and had to thump my chest a few times before I could breath somewhat steadily. When I said 'Excuse me?' a few octaves too high for a man, he'd laughed and said that he just wondered seeing as I was me and he couldn't see why I wasn't. I'd turned a sickly yellow that time as well, unsure of what to say. Bile had risen in my throat when I realised how I was completely and totally _not _a virgin, but that wasn't a story I wanted to talk about with the strawberry. Then again, he'd know if I was lying, so I simply said 'It didn't count'. To my surprise he hadn't pried, hadn't dazed me into spilling everything. Instead, he'd reached across the table evocatively, carefully took a hold on my chin and said that he would be the one to take it. I'd gulped; eyes wide and ablaze with fear. And for once he didn't laugh at me, didn't chuckle in that way that was all too redolent and all too embarrassing. Instead he'd gazed into my eyes with the seriousness of a man who had some very grave news to tell, and said that he didn't expect it now and when we did… it, it was going to be special. So I'd sucked in a breath and asked 'when?', and he said 'My birthday: July 15th.'

_July 15__th__. _

If only I had that luxury now. He'd leaned back the seconds later with a grin on his face and said 'In fact, 'm too selfish for tha'. Le's make that… Christmas'. When he stared at me with those puppy eyes and expectant look on his face it was all I could do to jump him right there and then. Instead I opted for nodding. Nodding was good; nonchalant. You could hide anything with nodding. His smile had grown, and he'd said 'Promise?', which I'd repeated breathlessly.

"Ya okay?"

My head, which had drifted down and to the side a little, flicked back towards him. With eyes full of concern, he squeezed my hand tightly and ducked his head down so I didn't have to crane my neck to look him in the eye. I nodded once, slowly. He shook his head once, equally slowly.

"No ya're not."

"Why'd you ask then?"

And for the first time in the history of forever, Kurosaki looked frustrated. Not frustrated so much as exasperated, but either way it was a new kind of emotion for Kurosaki Ichigo, but I wasn't sure why. It quickly dissipated though and that look of pity came back on his face again. He reached across the table with his other hand and waved it around a little until I finally grabbed it just to stop the incessant wafting.

"What's wrong?" He asked again, and it honestly was hard to keep a straight face. Not because I was laughing, but because I didn't want to crumple down and cry - didn't want to tell him that he shouldn't, _couldn't_ expect me to do this; not with just five days notice. A sharp twist in my chest told me I was in agony, _anguish _as I thought of the impending deed I had promised. It frightened the fuck out of me. I could feel myself shaking but was powerless to do anything about it. Not hyperventilating was also difficult because hyperventilating was generally a side effect of panicking, that being the exact thing I was doing right about now.

"I-" _Gasp. _"I'm not ready for that…"

And for what felt like the millionth time that hour, he gripped my hand tightly and smiled a crooked, gentle smile. _Damnit_. I couldn't let this happen; couldn't allow the fluttering in my chest to take over what little logic remained… again. It wasn't good for me; not these kinds of warmth, safety, _trust _that Kurosaki seemed to believe I deserved. Who on earth decided that a drugged up delinquent like me could have someone as considerate and urbane as the carrot-top? I wasn't made for that, there wasn't one cell in my body that could be allowed the happiness his heated touch promised. There wasn't one ounce of me that should be allowed something like that because _I was me. _I was just the short teen with the bleached hair and the abusive real parents and the lifeless foster parents. I'd earned all of that for myself, so what strange fate was bringing me this kind of comfort? What twisted God out there had smiled down upon me with a Cheshire grin and thought to himself: _'Let's see what we can do to him now'? _It was imminent. The blow when it all went wrong would be painful and irrevocable, holding me gently with spidery fingers and soothing me with that guttural voice. My chest felt tight when I thought of it. My body rejected those kinds of thoughts, the thought that Kurosaki would leave me. I didn't want to think about that_, wouldn't let_ _myself _think about that. This kind of treatment, the gentle ministrations of his thumb over my hand and his words in my ears, was a curse for me. It was a sweet poison that I could barely stand, could barely stomach when I thought about the implications behind it all. But I accepted it graciously with parched lips and cupped hands. There had to be some reason for this, whether it was to hurt me more or the unlikely possibility that I might find happiness.

Besides, interfering with the universe is a luxury only whole people can indulge.

Puppy eyes stared at me. "Ya're right. I shouldn't'a asked ya' to do tha'. 'm sorry."

And then in a move that was suddenly beginning to feel extremely repetitive, he renounced his grip on my hand and scooped all the white-wrapped gifts into a pile before pushing them towards me. When he spoke he could barely contain his mirth, like the giving of the gift was that much more exciting than the receiving. "Ya gonna open your birthday presents, eh?"

Another hopeless smile tilted my lips and I reached for the first thing I could touch, which was just an ordinary envelope. I flipped it over to look at the front of it and my name was scrawled across the front in light blue ink; thick lines, as though it had been done with a felt-tip pen. I'd never really seen Kurosaki's writing beforehand, but he seemed to have a strange habit of mixing up the sizes of the letters so it looked like some were in upper case and others in lower. Not that it wasn't neat, but I'd just taken him as the kind of person to write painstakingly slowly to ensure every letter was precisely round enough. I quit thinking about his handwriting and slid a finger under the paper flap. I cut myself in the process so with a hiss I opted to just rip the top open instead. What I pulled out was not a cheesy card telling me how old I was as I had expected, but a small piece of paper with a dancing woman on it. An iTunes gift card.

Something like a $10 iTunes voucher probably shouldn't have excited me as much as it had, but in fact I was completely and utterly ecstatic. I'd never had one before so it was completely new to me, and I felt somewhat unwilling to touch it in case my grubby fingers got smudged the gaudy image of the dancing chick. What some people take for granted when they are blessed with a well-off family is the value of money. People do not care when they are given the money, because it is something average to them. It has no value - just another mundane thing that they can take for granted… but people cry when they lose their $10 note. The opportunity to buy something sweet is gone, vanished like a wisp of smoke. Someone else, someone poorer, may pick up the note and be given $10 of vain happiness, but its original owner does not care for this. They cannot buy that chocolate bar they wanted or that accessory or whatever it is that rich people enjoy buying, and it is that notion which is why they are sad. When a poor person loses a $10 note, they are sad for a different reason. They are sad because they feel like they could never have owned it in the first place. It wasn't theirs to toy with in the first place. It's the pain of a broken responsibility, a knowing that it could have bought something wonderful that makes them miserable. The pain is less so, because it will still be used by whoever finds it. We know that we didn't deserve it in the beginning, and the inability to purchase something is all too familiar, so we continue to dream.

Dreaming, I twirled the card around in my hand, gripping it between my thumb and forefinger then flipping it to my pinkie and ring finger. I sniffed once at myself. I honestly was a child sometimes. Holding it in both hands like a regular person, I looked up at Kurosaki and took my bottom lip between my teeth, not bothering to hold back the grin.

"Thank you. Really." I wasn't even sure what to say because 'Thank you' didn't seem to cut it. Maybe now I could buy just a few more songs now. Just a few; I didn't want to be greedy. But just how much would $10 worth get me…?

And he looked honestly pleased that I liked it. Showing his full set of teeth, he cocked his head and laughed a little. "Geez, ya're that happy an' we 'aven't even got t' good bits yet?"

_Oh. _I glanced down and realized that there were five more packages on the table, all waiting patiently to be opened. They were wrinkled like dry leaves, little squares of cello-tape where the thin paper had ripped. None of them were bigger than my palm, but something told me that they would be worth quite a bit of money. He hadn't bothered to splurge on the wrapping paper, he knew I would laugh at him for wasting money on something as menial as gift-wrap, but from what I had gathered the carrot-top was not lacking in money. Far from it. His clothes were always clean and always fitted him and whatever he bought was always of the finest of qualities. I might've called it arrogant or avaricious if I hadn't thought that it suited him. I couldn't imagine him clad in the rustic jeans and torn, fake leather jacket that I frequently worn. Any shoes he owned were of the opulent kind. Not leather dress shoes or anything over the top like that, but he'd wear designer trainers. Converse also seemed to be frequent on his feet. He made me feel like a scatty mutt next to a prim pedigree. Yet I rarely felt out of place, for some reason I couldn't fathom.

One by one, I opened the presents and I was surprised at how much Kurosaki already knew about me. In a clear, egg shaped box there was a watch. The leather on the strap was the same brown as my jacket, which I confirmed my strapping it to my wrist and holding it up to the light. It wasn't overly flamboyant, and it lacked any real sheen to it seeing as the metal was burnished rather than silver, but it still held that air of affluence and grace which made it feel so regal, so consecrated. I recalled only once saying that I would want a watch, and that must have been months ago. I hardly even remembered the time when I told him my birthday, and I'd uttered it so quietly that I had initially doubted that he'd even heard it. My now watch-clad hand reached for another parcel and I could feel the child in me bubbling to the surface. A small part of me felt guilty, for I knew I could never reciprocate such kindness. They were all expensive; I'd clarified that when he didn't even regard the gift card as 'a good bit', and this kind of wealth was not something I could return. If I saved up then maybe I could buy him a chocolate bar… maybe a notepad or something if I _really _tried. It was hard to suppress a sardonic smile as I opened the next gift. It really wasn't worth the effort. I could have asked him not to buy me anything, then maybe the guilt would deplete just a little, but I doubted he would agree to anything like that. He had the kind of… assets that he could throw around wherever he pleased and it was just like spending loose change. Money held no value to him. He was one of the people I scorned so much, but I couldn't bring myself to rebuke _him. _

In the next packet there was a novelty set of Matryoshka dolls, only each was painted as a ninja instead of an oriental Russian woman. I laughed once and began to peel each one apart, chuckling as the faces on each doll changed as they got smaller. It was like a timeline of its defeat, the first one looking rather cocky and the last one looking sorry for itself with crossed eyes and its tongue stuck out of the side of its mouth. The last doll in particular felt quite heavy and looked a lot bigger than I thought they should be when they ended, so I twisted the head and to my surprise it came off. Inside there were an array of Skittles and Smarties, so I chortled with delight and tipped it into my mouth. I didn't even recall telling him how I'd only ever tried two types of sweet - Smarties and Skittles - or how I loved them so much from that very first taste. Chewing on my candy, I pushed the mass of paper to the other side of the table and picked up the next present. Inside that there was an iPod cover, featuring the one and only '_Three Days Grace'. _My eyebrows jerked up at that, lips parting a little as my breath came out in a gasp.

"How did you…" I breathed. My fingers traced the rough cellophane and my mouth hung like a fish. Beneath the clear wrapping it was just so… shiny. It glinted at me mischievously, and it took me a few seconds too long to realise I was stroking Adam Gontier's face with a simple smile on my face. Instead of thanking him instantly like I had done with the previous gifts, I immediately began to rip it open, revelling in the obtrusive tearing noises the plastic made. Once off, I threw the plastic a little too excitedly across the table and it never really made much distance, just landing short of half way to the carrot-top. The iPod cover was a sort of rubber, only shinier and smoother… which was weird but I was too busy trying to find my iPod to dwell upon the fact. Tearing the earphones out of the socket, I tossed them next to the packaging and began to fumble around with the cover, trying to figure out how to put it on and failing miserably in my excitement.

I tried to ignore Kurosaki's laughter, but it was hard to when I put it on backwards for a third time, so I threw it down in defeat and began laughing with him. It really was inane of me to be so excited over something as insignificant as an iPod cover, but I couldn't wait to mask the peeling paint on the MP3 player. It hadn't even been fully red when I bought it, so for the first time it would look, _feel _complete. I leaned in my chair which creaked pathetically, and threw up my hands in defeat. How typical of me to be beaten by an inanimate object.

He smirked once, then reached for the iPod and cover and began to piece them together. "Ya wear that '_Three Days Grace' _shirt all 'time an' ya've got three o' their songs on yer iPod. 's kinda obvious ya like 'em." With a little _snap _the two clicked together in place and he handed me back the iPod which now sported my favourite singer's face.

I dutifully held the iPod between my hands, glanced up at him and offered yet another, sincere 'Thank you.'

I held up the next gift with a little confusion, because I couldn't really tell what it was. Kurosaki had either taken the liberty of taking the packaging off the little trinket or it just hadn't come with one anyway. What it was, was a dragon; aquamarine crystals studded along its belly and bright jade eyes on its shiny metal face. It wasn't three dimensional, so it curled around in itself to melt into one, swirling shape that was so very evocative. Its silvery wings were tucked by its side, embedded with yet more jewels. Hung from its tail was a brown, leather strip that was woven tightly and looped back on itself to tie in a knot at the tail again. If I'd described it, it would have sounded so very tacky and tasteless, like it was iridescent to the point that it seemed cheap… but it wasn't. It was expensive, and I couldn't help myself but appreciate it. I hooked my finger in the loop and lifted it to my face, trying to stare at it to see if it would tell me just… what it was. It spun in a little circle, beads of light glancing off every face, every edge of the jewels encrusted into it.

I felt slightly embarrassed that I had to ask. "What… is it?"

He didn't seem annoyed, which assured me a little. "Yeah, probably won't make sense 'til ya open 'next one."

Barely ignoring the feral grin across his face, I set down the little dragon and began to open the final package. My fingers shook a little as I peeled layer after layer of tape from the gift and began to unwrap the paper. My heart was racing wildly, I chewed nervously on my bottom lip; for some reason I could feel that I had saved the best one until last. The small package just fit in the palm of my hand, but it felt heavy, dense… _expensive. _And I mean _really expensive. _It felt like minutes before I had reached the last sheet of paper, silently cursing Kurosaki's wrapping skills and the suspense the amount of gift-wrap induced.

I'd hardly torn a corner off before I was across the table and clinging onto his neck, planting wanton kisses across any area of skin I could find. Each kiss came with its own 'Thank you' and occasionally an 'Oh my God, and I didn't have it in me to hide the hyperactive side of me that came out to play oh-so rarely. He let out an unmanly giggle that neither of us cared to hide and gently trailed the tips of his fingers heatedly up and down my arms which brought out my own unmanly whimper. I cupped his face and dragged my lips across his in one long, grazing kiss. He took my lower lip in his mouth and sucked on it gently, wrapping his own sinewy arms around my neck as I climbed awkwardly onto his lap. Legs wrapped around his waist in a way that just screamed that I didn't care who was watching, I pulled myself up a little and took control; demanding for more… more of his kisses, more of his touch. He complied easily, parting his lips gently and letting a stray hand drift down to the small of my back and pressing me further into him. I was burning - why the surrounding area wasn't on fire was a mystery I cared too little about to think of for more than a second. He was everywhere. He was too close but I wanted to be nearer to him. I wanted to climb inside him; to wrap myself in a cocoon of his warm embrace and cling to him like a foetus clung to life. With fingers wrapped in his neon hair and eyes shut tightly, I did what little I could to become a part of him - welding myself to his chest like lichen welds itself to a rock. I couldn't for the life in me remember why I was kissing him, but I honestly didn't care.

Someone cleared their throats behind us, a gesture that was obviously indicated towards us, but I found it difficult to break away. It was only when Kurosaki gently grabbed me by the shoulders and pried my body from his that it finally occurred to me that we were making out quite suggestively in public. My lips were bruised and hurt a little bit, but it was Kurosaki's face that made me pause to touch them. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, trying to hold back a dangerous guffaw. I blinked once, then once more, then did a double-take downwards when I realised that I was indeed sat on Kurosaki's lap; our crotches just that little bit too close to be an amiable position. I blushed violently and scrambled off of him, stumbling a few times and running into the Café manager who happened to be the one coughing at us. With a yelp I fell to the floor, pain shooting up my spine and making my head spin a bit. Clutching my back with one hand, I used the other to try and make a speedy escape but I was winded and I couldn't see straight. Kurosaki's laughter finally exploded and sharply rent the air. I clawed my head at the sound, groaning.

"Shut up, idiot." I mumbled, feeling around for something to cling onto and finding his leg instead. I sighed and pushed myself up so I could stand straight, only to stumble at the sudden head rush. My hand slammed onto the table and I wobbled around until I could find my balance. Composure officially lost and confidence shot, I glanced up to apologise profusely to the manager, but found myself paling when I saw him. The man was _fucking huge_, and that was an understatement. I might've been short myself but _that_ was just an unnatural height. He looked to be six foot seven at least, and he'd spiked his long, black hair which made him seem about three feet taller. I might've let out a terrified squeak but it was hidden by the sudden scuffling of chair legs when Kurosaki rose from his seat and began to scoop the gifts into his pockets.

"Should we see us selves out?" he asked calmly, resting a hand on my shoulder.

The manager pulled a shit-eating grin and cocked a brow. His eye glittered mischievously (I say eye, only one of them was uncovered. His right eye was masked by a black eye patch, for a reason I doubted was his lack of eyeball). "Yeah, I think ya'd better."

Kurosaki pulled an equally shit-eating smirk and towed me out of the shop, his free hand waving to the people who were staring.

I guess public displays of affection really weren't my style.

* * *

><p>"You do realise we'll never be able to go back there, don't you?"<p>

I twiddled the dragon charm between my fingers, tugging on the string a bit and feeling a strange pride when it didn't pull out of the phone. _He'd gotten me a phone._ I hadn't known what kind of phone but Kurosaki had later told me that the small buttons and 'scrolly pad thingy' (quote) meant it was a Blackberry. Not that the description helped much, seeing as (as far as I knew) a blackberry was a kind of fruit, but I accepted it graciously (and a little excitedly) all the same. The keypad _was_ incredibly small, and the comment of how it was a miniature phone for a miniature person was not much appreciated.

After absconding the café without paying (and leaving the flowers behind in our haste, much to my dismay), Kurosaki had insisted that we spend the rest of the evening together. To be candid I hadn't wanted anything else for the menial little day of my birth. So there we were, lying on Kurosaki's back lawn, watching the purple-grey clouds half-cover the stars with their ominous grasp. It was in the thick of the winter months, so it was cold. And dark. But I didn't mind. I was nestled in the crook of Kurosaki's body with his arm around the back of my neck, fingers trailing down my arm lightly. As to not elbow him in the ribs, I held the charm up high, like I was trying to silhouette it against the glowing moon, like the shadow puppetry we always found so amusing when we were children. It'd be as if there was a dragon riding the wind across the face of the moon; gazing down upon us with his omniscient stare. The warm glow from a street lamp that came from a wealthy part of the neighbourhood was comforting, and I could see a little haze of mist dancing in the ray of light. Rain seemed to be coming and we both knew it, but neither of us cared to move much. Instead, we lay back; patiently awaiting the rain. After all, I loved the rain.

"Nonsense. We saw us selves out quite calmly. We were 'perfect example."

"Tch," I said then rolled further into his grasp, dropping my arm onto his toned stomach comfortably. My left arm was crushed awkwardly between our torsos, but when I breathed in his musky, British scent I found it hard to care. My fingers curled around the thin cotton of his shirt, hand tucked into his jacket which was now dry. I exhaled once contentedly. It had always bemused me why the chicks at school were always so keen to have their 'Super Sweet Sixteen' or something like that. I'd heard it was a popular TV show. Not that I'd ever seen it, of course. Apparently, it was about some spoiled rich kids who got Ferraris and million dollar parties for their birthdays and still complained when things went wrong. It all sounded superficial to me, but the chicks still thought it was of the utmost importance to have parties worth millions and cars worth more. I suppose I couldn't really complain, considering Kurosaki had just spent well over a hundred dollars on me… but I hadn't asked for that. Also, Kurosaki was pretty rich so I doubted he'd miss a hundred dollars or so. I smiled at the selfish thought. I'd gone without so much, taking something back could hardly be a crime, right?

Then again, if I had to choose then laying with Kurosaki beneath the blossoming clouds was far more preferable.

"Seriously!" He insisted after a minute or so. "We'll go back there next Sunday 'nd say 'We're home! Didja miss us last week?' 'nd they'll be so 'appy their best customers're back they'll give us free cake."

I laughed loudly, wrapping my arm as tightly as I could around him and snuggling into his neck. "Good luck with that."

"What, ya don't think tha'll work?" I could almost hear the frown in his voice.

Pressing my lips to his jugular, I let a weak smile spread across my lips. He brought out the worst in me, the idiot did. He really was a dope when he wanted to be… but I wouldn't have him any other way. I inhaled, eyes nearly rolling back when I could taste him in the back of my throat. I felt the inane urge to lick him, but my sanity got the better of me. For once. "Tell you what. You go in and say that, and I'll wait in the doorway to assist your speedy escape."

He grinned. His head rolled towards me and he gazed at me through half lidded eyes and thick lashes; irises like melted chocolate, swirling at me like he was trying to mesmerize me and was succeeding. His mouth formed an adorable pout that seemed more akin to a scowl than anything. A brow jerked up sardonically. "'s a deal."

I gave him a quick peck on the lips before huddling closer into his side, resting my head on his chest and glancing upwards.

The clouds began to billow outwards and the sky turned a dark purple, a tangy smell beginning to drift down to earth. The stars disappeared behind the clouds, their zenith finally complete as a much more poignant kind of weather coerced its way to the surface. "It's gonna rain."

"But it jus' stopped raining!" His chest vibrated a little as he whined.

"Dontcha like rain?"

"I'm kinda indifferent towards 'stuff but it's already rained for hours today so I dun see why it 'as to do it again."

I sat upwards, somewhat slowly due to his clawing hands that were reluctant to let go, and began to pat the damp grass around us to look for my iPod. My hands touched the Matryoshka (Which had turned out to be made of chocolate, so I only really touched the wrappers) and the phone before I finally found the iPod. Grabbing Adam Gontier by the face, I stabbed at a few buttons until the lights flashed on and it presented me with a list of twelve songs to choose from. I unravelled the earphones and plugged them into my ears, just as a few spots of water appeared on the bright screen. My thumb made one large circle until the song I wanted was highlighted. I honestly wasn't in a mood for '_Electric Daisy Violin' _right now, so I pressed the 'play' button and closed my eyes to the sound of _'Rain'. _

Tucking the device back into my pocket, as to not get wet, I sighed into the feeling of raindrops across my skin. It felt nice, soothing the heat of my flushed cheeks from being so close to my boyfriend… I hated that word, it seemed too tacky, but I couldn't refer to him as a lover. Not yet. Probably not ever at this rate. He reached across him stomach and tugged his jacket over his torso, probably mumbling about how it was going to get wet for a second time that day. I didn't know, I couldn't hear him over the whistling or whatever instrument it was that made that goddamned beautiful noise. I ignored his griping and fisted his shirt, cheek grazing against his hard pectoral. Raindrops plinked pitifully against my forehead, then harder, then harder, then they were hammering against my head in a way that should have been painful had I not been so utterly content at that moment. Their chilling embrace didn't shake my bones the way they should have, didn't send that little sting that spread like lightning through each modicum of skin they touched. Instead, I found myself realised what '_Rain_' truly was about. I'd always taken it as a sad song - one suited to the proverbial melancholy of rain, one that poked at your pain; laughing, jeering, _mocking _the fact that you were so very alone and that nobody was going to be there to tell you otherwise. It had that kind of grasp on you where it made you feel special, where it suddenly became special to you if you liked it. Some songs you'd hear and instantly share with your friends, want them to feel the same kind of happiness you feel when you listen to that song. But some songs felt too consecrated, felt as though sharing it would be a betrayal. So I'd always thought it was a song that one listened to by oneself.

Maybe I should've stuck to that ethic when he reached over and plucked an earphone out of my ear.

"Can I listen?" He asked whilst putting the device in his ear, already listening so deeming my answer pointless.

"Mmh," I muttered. It surprised me that I didn't care, that the fact he was listening to my song was breaking some unwritten rule of mine, some mental law that I needed to stay sane. I'd never wanted anyone to listen to '_Rain_', always wanted to keep it to myself like a selfish child. Yet I found myself egging him on, waiting eagerly to see what he thought of the song, if he'd enjoy it. The minutes dragged on wordlessly and I shuffled around a little edgily, trying to provoke an answer from the seemingly silent carrot-top. My hair was soaked and so was his jacket, but he didn't seem to care much. A few breathy beats signalled the end of the music, and there was a long pause when we waited for it to start up again.

"That wa' nice," he said plainly. "Where'd ya find it?"

"On one of my infrequent voyages to YouTube," I muttered without tone. It was true; the chances I got to be on the computer were few and far between - the times when my foster parents decided that drinking at home would no longer suffice. But then I had hours, maybe even days to rid myself of the indelible urge of a teenager interested in technology who was not allowed to indulge in said technology. "I just clicked through the related videos for hours and found this."

The song started up again, yet he didn't pull the earphone out. Instead, I watched him carefully as his eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled once. The corners of his mouth pulled upwards in a small, crooked smile and he turned to me just a little. "Ya've got it on repeat?"

"Always."

He rolled to face me completely before snaking his long arms around my waist and pulling me into him so we were effectively cuddling. "Then I hope ya dun mind if 'ah listen in."

A nuance of completion washed over me, drowned me when I realised that he approved of the music. The feeling of sanction he gave for my song, for _our _song was one that I wasn't used to. I didn't know what it was like to be judged for something… that wasn't in a bad way. Anything I liked, anything I held dear was always mocked; told that I was an idiot for holding something like that close to my heart. I wasn't used to this sentiment, the way that he made me feel like I _belonged. _He held me like I deserved to be there, like I was given the right to feel so happy in his touch. It wasn't something I knew. The snide, malevolent comments of how I should go die because I was just a poor faggot who didn't own a TV were all too prevalent in the hellacious corridors of public schools, and it wasn't that the teachers cared. Prejudice was all too common, all too _acceptable _when you go to a place like that. The people who were supposed to care for you silently approved of the jeering, silently joined in with it. Why? Because it's survival of the fucking fittest. If you weren't one of the crowd, if you weren't a grey blur amongst a smoky haze, then you were just asking for the bullies. It was like holding a neon sign above your head saying 'I'm different and I can handle it' when you know full well you _can't fucking handle it. _Unless you've got an iron set of fists and a mouth rivalling the devil's then you aren't gonna make it.

Thank god for my solid punch and sharp tongue.

Nobody gives a shit about you when you're a white-haired little fag with a rough past and a rough present and a future that should not ensue, because you aren't worth their worry. They have better things to be concerned about, like who's gonna win that singing contest on TV or what their 'Super Sweet Sixteen' is gonna be like. No, you're just there to be played with. You're disposable, a plastic toy that people can pick up when they feel like it and beat you to a pulp; and it doesn't matter because you're _not worth shit_. People can push you into lockers and grope you then laugh when you blush; all because you're queer so you _obviously _like the treatment. They strip in the locker room, rubbing up against you because you're such a voyeur and obviously want to see them in that way. Then they kick you in the balls and watch as you writhe in pain, sneering that you don't deserve to have a pair.

But they don't expect it when you fight back. They never see the fist coming until it's two inches into their face, never hear the words until they're spat right in their ear; they _never _expect to see the icy resilience burning in your eyes, deep with hatred, as you kick and spit and claw at their faces until they're just a bloody mess on the floor - not worthy of the titles of 'popular' that they've given themselves. Their spineless protégés would _always _run when I turned to them, eyes ablaze, cheeks speckled with spots of blood; grin worthy of a Cheshire-cat's. There is no feeling that compares to the throbbing in your knuckles and temples after punching someone into the floor. Nothing I've experienced in any case. After years and years and _years _of constant _shit_, nothing can compare to the feeling of getting your own back. Nothing should even try to.

But you can fight back all you want and it won't make a difference. There'll always be more, more pathetic little squirts who think it's funny to jibe and sneer. I beat them all, crushed them with as much ease as a child crushes an ant but there were _always more fucking idiots_ coming back, grovelling to be beaten up again. My calloused hands and metal heart were eager to comply. After all, it wasn't like I was going to make anything of myself. Anyone who thought that the fag with the white hair and bloodied fists would be allowed back into that school after _that one day _deserved to be shot.

Because _that one day _I was stabbed. He was a pitiable squat; a repeat offender, you could call him, because no matter how many times I punched or kicked or bit or spat he always came back for more - more of the childish taunts that hurt just a little too much. He came back from his two day suspension with a smirk on his face and a spark in his eyes… and I knew he was asking for it. The brawl was bloody and it hurt like a bitch. I'd landed a few punches on him, but I was the one with broken bones and a black eye. Then I'd seen it. I saw the glint of metal, the light flicking off that perfectly sharpened blade… and that was all I saw. I only saw that fucking flash of light winking at me before it was in my side and I was on the floor. I'd never screamed before, but the feel of metal embedded in your flesh is something that's just too damned painful to ignore. People who were shot or stabbed and said they shrugged it off were bloody lying because the pain is just excruciating. I'd screamed and writhed on the floor, bleeding, while he laughed and spat in my face. No-one bothered to get the nurse or anything, because I was _just a fag. _'Fag' had lost its touch over the years, but when I thought back to the day and when that bastard uttered the words '_Bleed in hell, ya ugly fag'_, it was hard not to let the demons come back.

It wasn't like I hadn't been stabbed before, but I have no recollection of the wounds my old lady gave me. I didn't want to.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

Kurosaki's cool voice was my fucking saviour. I doubted my sanity would last much longer if his sweet words didn't drift into my ears soon enough. I tried to speak but at first I found my voice failing me and tears threatening to drip down my face. Nobody would see them for the rain, but I blinked them back anyway. My head throbbed a little. "Knives."

The PE teacher had found me that day. I can just remember the disgusted look on his face as he trailed away indolently to go fetch the nurse. I was barely conscious when she arrived. She seemed to care, but it was her job to care. She'd screeched at the instructor for calling her when he should have been calling A&E. I'd blacked out about then and woke up in the ambulance, panicking when I saw the blaring lights and buzzing people screaming '_CLEAR_' just as I awoke. I swear, that defibrillator was just that little too close when they noticed the heart monitor start up with that all too familiar _beep beep beep. _Of course, it went a little more like _beepbeep-fucking-beep _when I saw that electric shock machine. I'd lost consciousness again, but I don't think they shocked me awake. My heart had been beating that time. They'd told me I'd been clinically dead three times during that trip.

Of course I was the one who'd been excluded. Somehow it was my fault that the guy stabbed me. My parents don't know about that. They wouldn't care.

Kisuke doesn't know either. As far as he's concerned I'm still passing every class.

Kurosaki's fingers knotted with my hair and he pulled a little, comfortingly. He massaged my scalp gently until the headache dulled to a small pulse in the back of my head. I clawed at his shirt and ducked my head into his side. I'd never quite get over how firm his torso was, yet it was never uncomfortable. He ran his fingers down the back of my neck and played with the short hairs that clung to my nape. His other hand pressed me further into him. I'd never felt so safe in another person's grasp.

"Can you talk?" I breathed, barely audible above the hammering rain. "I'm… I'm thinking too hard."

So he talked. I wasn't even sure what it was about but in lieu of that I couldn't help but hang off his every word. Not the meanings behind them, but the resonance. His voice was so dulcet and soft that it calmed my jaded mind, soothed my twitching muscles until all I could feel were his fingers in my hair and his words in my ear. My hands were beginning to freeze so I shoved one under Kurosaki's shirt (almost laughing when he gasped at the cold) and the other in my pocket, clinging onto the iPod like the music would stop if I didn't. Then I cried freely. It was selfish and childish of me to be crying simply at memories. Why should I be allowed to shed tears at bad thoughts when Kurosaki stayed dry eyed? And he had the worse past. He'd killed someone - I'd just experienced it from the outside. Hardly any contest there, right?

Rain pattered pathetically onto my face and I barely noted that it was just spitting. I didn't like mild drizzle - _that _was a said kind of weather. One couldn't sing in the rain and kick at puddles when it was only drizzling.

"Whattya think 'bout tha' then?"

"Hmm?"

"Jeez, ya ask me to talk 'nd ya dun even listen!" His annoyance was clearly fake. "I said do ya wan' me to teachya how to use tha' phone or 're ya jus' gonna stare at it for 'rest o' ya life?"

I smiled into his chest and nodded once. The rain no longer pounded on our heads like bouquets of bombshells, but ceased to exist as the clouds parted and revealed a set of twinkling stars; scattered across they bluey sky like glitter across a child's drawing. The cacophony of falling water no longer drowned out the sound of the music and I found myself cringing at the pounding melody, so I turned the volume down to a more comfortable degree.

"Awright then. I awready put me phone in there so we c'n ring me 'nd see if it works."

He stretched his arm back awkwardly and patted the dewed ground a little until he found the phone and pulled it into his grasp. Thankfully, it had been facing down and in its case during the downpour so none of the water had gotten on the screen or in the keypad. He pushed a button which I had already discovered and the screen flickered to life. His thumb worked deftly over the small keypad, though he stopped every few seconds to explain exactly what he was doing, and I watched in awe as I finally learned a little something about technology. I really was very interested in the stuff, yet being only wealthy enough to afford food every few days didn't really equate to someone who could afford to keep up with the latest gadget trends. He pushed a few more buttons and showed me how to find his name in the contacts list, add a new contact, where all the folders were; I felt like a giddy child when he finally pressed the call button and held it to my ear so I could listen. I waited patiently for a few seconds whilst the phone rang noisily in my ear and eventually a quiet, muffled tune began to sound from his pocket. He cocked a head at me and pulled a grin, to which I frowned in confusion at. I'd expected the phone to work on the first try, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that it did in fact ring. After waiting a few seconds to stare at his venerated smirk, I pulled it away from my ear and glanced down at it; trying to find the button that would switch the ringing off when the screen changed and a little timer appeared on the screen.

"_Hello?_" Kurosaki's voice sounded from next to me and from the device.

I jerked a dubious brow his way, but he simply held a finger up to me and turned away. _I'm on the phone, _the gesture said.

I smirked, shoved my iPod in my pocket and brought the phone back to my ear. "Took your time answering."

"_Sorry,_" a completely non-apologetic voice answered. "_Couldn't help it. See, I were lookin' at me boyfriend. He had this idiotic smile on 'is face 'nd it were so adorable. I think he were 'appy with 'present I got 'im._"

My mouth twitched at the corners, but I just held back the urge to laugh. I rolled from my laying position into one that had my legs curled under me so I could kneel up if I wanted to. I'd play along with his game. After all, Kurosaki's games were indeed some of the best. "Oh yeah? What'd you get him?"

His head lifted a little and I could almost hear the smug smile on his face. "_Oh, nothing much. Just a phone, a voucher, an iPod case, some chocolate and a phone charm._"

"Nothing much? Anyone'd think you were rich with all that."

"_I kinda am rich. Son of a politician, ya see._"

"Ah." I feigned interest as I crawled, cat-style, towards him. I was silent; the grass barely rustled beneath my knees. "I bet he _really _enjoyed all of those."

"_Hmm?_" He remained still even as I breathed down the back of his neck. "_Do I sense a little bit of sarcasm, _Hitsugaya Tōshirō?"

I shuddered a little when he spoke my full name in that wonderful drawl of his. The way a name rolled off his tongue was so endearing, so voluptuous that it could steer any man (or woman) away from celibacy in a heartbeat. I was only glad that it was _my _name that dripped from his lascivious lips. Without needing to look, I hung up with a little _beep_, dropped the phone gently to the floor and trailed my fingers up his spine. His body shivered at the touch. My hands dragged up and down his back twice, before they landed on his neck and I began to stroke and caress the skin there. I played with the hairs that clung to his nape, revelling in how silky smooth they were even after being saturated by the rain. He was a well groomed man, was Kurosaki. He clearly didn't try to be perfect, but that didn't deter from the fact that he was flawless in every way. From the way his hair spiked naturally whilst retaining that winsome softness to the perfectly tanned skin on his arms and face that didn't require inches of make-up to achieve. He was natural and fucking beautiful in a way that should be illegal. I combed my fingers through his hair before resting them lightly behind his ears.

"Sarcasm? Oh no, I would never dream of it!" My nose pushed itself forward unconsciously into the darkened locks and I inhaled. My knees felt weak at the smell. I loved the smell of rain and I loved the smell of Kurosaki. It was no doubt that I would find the two an addictive concoction. Trying to find strength in my legs, I rolled my fingers in small circles behind his ears. "I think he loved it all a lot."

Then he did something I didn't quite expect. He pushed against the two fingers I held to his temples and swayed a little, sighing. His weight on my fingers was hard to carry, so with a surprised yelp I lost my grip on his head and we both tumbled to the floor quite dramatically. He flipped himself over and put his hands on the floor just in time as to not crush me, but being crushed was the last of my worries. I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard. The chuckles bubbled out of my mouth and exploded in his face so loud that I turned my head and bit my wrist just to try and stifle the mad laughs - an ineffective gesture. I just spluttered against my wrist and eventually had to relinquish my bite to take a gulp of oxygen. My chest hurt and my breaths came in small, frequent bursts that seemed like I was hyperventilating. My head throbbed and I could feel my face turning red from lack of air. I probably looked funnier than the two of us falling in a heap did.

Kurosaki didn't quite explode with laughter as I had, but he grinned and chuckled. He leaned down and planted a kiss on my laughing mouth, then pulled back so I could try to breathe again. I wasn't having that. I grabbed him roughly by the hair and pulled him down onto my mouth again. If I ran out of oxygen then so be it because I wanted to spend every moment I could as close to Kurosaki as I could. It was my birthday, after all.

Our lips moved roughly against one another's' for a few long seconds before we pulled back, gasping. His eyes burned a deep cocoa and it was so easy to get lost in them as I stared. I was barely aware of my hand still on his neck until his reached up and clasped it with his. As he spoke, my eyes flickered to his bruised lips.

"It's times like this when it's hard to believe ya're such a prude." The words were whispered gently, barely escaping his swollen lips to caress my ears. His eyes were soft, yet dark and deep like there was some extra meaning behind his words that I couldn't fathom. The tresses on his hairline fell straight down and he was close enough that they tickled my own forehead. I noticed a few sun spots speckled across the bridge of his nose. I hadn't known that he had freckles.

I may have ordinarily taken offence, but it was Kurosaki. There was no malice behind his words, so I found it hard to find them insulting. I hadn't told Kurosaki about my past; it wasn't the kind of thing I thought he needed to know. If he ever asked, then I would open up. He had opened up. He'd told me the truth all of an hour after I had met him, yet I hadn't offered him something the same. Maybe it wasn't fair, but truthfully I just hadn't been ready. Something like that is hard to tell, so even after all the years I had left it to fester I still could barely bring myself to think about it; let alone tell someone else. But whenever I was with Kurosaki I felt some inane urge to spill everything. I didn't need to dwell on his effect on me any more to know that I was going to end up telling him what happened to me at some point. I wanted to tell him at a time when it was special, when something had _happened _between us. That post-coital high might've provided me with the courage I needed to finally tell him about it. Knowing me, it would all come out in a flurry of flailing limbs and tearful eyes. I'd end up blubbing my sob-story into his chest, whimpering as he held me and we fell asleep in a tight knot of limbs and sweaty skin. I stared up dutifully into his deep eyes and benevolent face and realised that it might be a lot sooner than I had anticipated.

I really didn't think I could wait until July.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Okay I have been writing this over the course of… a while. So I'm sorry if some plot points didn't add up. If they don't, tell me and I'll try to sort them out :)<strong>_

_**The next chapter will probably be a short one, because there was a scene that I wanted to include in here but it would probably make this chapter too long and I don't want to add it to the last chapter so it'll have its own, methinks.**_

_**I would love you if you could **__**review**__** please? :3**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**NOTE: I am changing my username to 'cantwritepoetry' to match with most of my other accounts. I'm sorry for any inconvenience or confusion, I just prefer that pseudonym currently.  
>NOTE2: I changed a bit of this chapter because, stupid me, never checked for continuity errors. It's just a sentence or two, I think. Shouldn't make much difference.<br>**_

_**I'm **_**SO **_**sorry for the lack of updates! I thought I'd have some free time after school had ended but between homework and some other shit that occurred in my life, I just wanted to spend my free time relaxing. I mean, I love writing, but it stresses me out sometimes.**_

_**I expected this chapter to be much shorter than it ended up, not sure how it turned into this. Huh.**_

_**The song for this chapter is 'Whiskey Lullaby' by 'Brad Paisley'. Please listen to it :) I know I always use songs for my chapters, but I don't consider my stories Songfics. I just know I always like to listen to music when I read, so if anyone else feels the same way then here's what song I'd recommend listening to.**_

_**(If you really wanted you could listen to 'Landslide' by 'Fleetwood Mac' or 'World So Cold' by '12 Stones'. They sort of fit the theme I was going for in their own special way.)**_

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><p><em>He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger.<br>And finally drank away her memory.  
>Life is short but this time it was bigger than the strength he had to get up off his knees.<br>We found him with his face down in the pillow  
>With a note that said 'I'll love her till I die'.<br>And when we buried him beneath the willow  
>The angels sang a Whiskey Lullaby…<em>

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><p><em><strong>Momentary Delusions: Chapter 3<strong>_

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><p>The next few months were uneventful to say the least. Kurosaki's scheme to get back into <em>Benihime <em>went almost exactly to plan, minus the free cake. Kurosaki was right in that the waitresses and waiters were surprisingly happy to see us and all greeted us with a smile - even Ichimaru, who promptly made us a 'cuppa' upon arrival. Kurosaki had made quite a bit of a meal out of the whole experience, claiming quite colourfully that the Sunday before had to have been an aggressively dull day in terms of customers. Ichimaru had grinned his wide, toothy grin and said '_Hhmm, t'boss did notice there wa' a bit of money outta pocket_.' Kurosaki had punched him playfully, and I watched, amused, for half an hour while a friendly kind of banter was passed back and forth between the two.

We had resumed our weekly visits to _Benihime _on a Sunday, because Fridays seemed as though they should be reserved for special occasions. Such as Kurosaki's birthday. The day had almost passed without me noticing. It had been a Sunday and we'd been sat in _Benihime's _having tea and cake. Kurosaki decided that mentioning he was turning twenty was quite a chore, so opted against it. I probably wouldn't have even noticed that he'd turned older another if I hadn't checked my iPod when we were leaving and realised that the date looked familiar. I sort of wished I hadn't, because my grovelling that I hadn't bought him _anything _turned into a conversation of what I could _do _for him instead. My heart had stopped when I remembered what he'd asked before. I wasn't ready to sleep with him. I had wanted to - good Lord, I had wanted to so much - but it was too soon for me. _Thankfully_, Kurosaki was always one to read minds and had instead chose different gift.

_'Come meet mah family'_, he'd said. _'They'll love ya'_, he'd said.

I was scarred for life.

They were lovely people, I'll give them that. Pleasantries had been exchanged, hands had been shaken - and it all seemed so incredibly British when I was offered tea and crumpets. I mean, crumpets were a perpetually British delicacy but I'd just assumed it was one of those completely ludicrous stereotypes that they ate them regularly. Such as America's love of burgers (Not that I would ever pass up on a burger, given the chance). Much to my dismay, Kurosaki had later informed me that his father had just been messing with my head and Isshin Kurosaki had in fact bought the crumpets for the occasion. I'd been crushed.

Like I say, the family was nice enough. His little sister, Yuzu, was the most adorable thing I've seen and I just wanted to pinch her cheeks throughout. Yuzu's twin, Karin, was a little less on the adorable side but made it up in amiability. One would think a twelve year old girl would find speaking to her gay, nineteen year old brother's boyfriend awkward; not Karin. The conversation flew easy with her. She spoke of football and technology and retold the flamboyant tales that Kurosaki-san spoke of in a manner that made more sense. It was as if my gender didn't matter to her - like the fact that I owned a cock meant nothing to her; if her brother was happy then she was also. It felt as though I could be a purple dinosaur with feet for ears and she wouldn't turn the other way. She accepted me, and that wasn't a sentiment I was used to.

The rest of his family was compliant as well. I'd already met Hisagi so I didn't expect any grief from him. He'd also brought Matsumoto along because for some unfathomable reason the woman with a fetish for bad boys had stuck with a currently sober guy (Hisagi had been clean for the past five months and Kurosaki made sure that didn't go unnoticed) and he wanted her to meet the 'family'. His father was a very excitable man who waved his arms and stood on chairs when he was telling a story. Kurosaki, Karin and Yuzu all tried to ignore his floundering but Hisagi and I just chuckled along with him.

I make it seem as though the experience wasn't traumatic. People have different sides.

The men in the room had a warped sense of humour, one I was shocked to see that Kurosaki inherited. They were obviously aware that I knew of Hisagi's past, but what made me nearly retch with horror was how it was a free topic of conversation at the dinner table. Even with the three girls present. Karin and Yuzu sat quietly once the subject had been brought up, chewing awkwardly on their food while Kurosaki-san spat his own out and flailed around madly with more stories.

_'An' I saw this'un an' I jus' knew we 'ad ta take 'im home!'_ He'd yelled, tousling Hisagi's hair with unnecessary belligerence and punching the boy lightly on the shoulder.

Hisagi had barked out a laugh. _'Ya're makin' it sound like ya adopted me! I ain't a dog y'old twat!'_

I'd nearly gagged when Kurosaki spoke. _'Who's a good doggy, Shūhei?' _He'd raised his brows and reached to pat Hisagi on the head.

_'Jus' 'cause I lived off bones fer four years of me life don't mean I'm a dog, ya bastard!' _

_''least ya didn't live in 'doghouse!' _Kurosaki'd held his hands in front of his chest and let them hang down, like a puppy begging for food. He'd let a high-pitched whine out and several more _'woof's_ until Hisagi threatened him with a fork. Kurosaki flicked a piece of potato at his 'brother' and thus began a rather feeble food war of throwing peas and carrots.

I had to lean back a few times, particularly when a particular deadly carrot was launched my way, which quickly impaled the wall and left a neon orange stain. Karin had looked over at me and mouthed a _'sorry'_, seeing as Hisagi had forgotten to do so and Kurosaki was too busy laughing and defending himself to apologise for the man. She'd then put her head down and resumed eating, her shoulders shaking a little in embarrassment and annoyance. Yuzu had whined a little, begging the three men in her life to stop trying to spear one another with sharpened food. Kurosaki-san was no help and freely cheered on his two sons. Matsumoto had continued with her meal graciously, not quite comprehending the situation at hand or why me and the two twins were quite so shocked. Instead, she'd laughed politely at the jokes they made, not understanding the humour at all. I both admired her and felt sorry for her.

Life without rehab was fun. My Fridays were free to do whatever it was I pleased. Thankfully, it was getting to that season where rain greeted the ground every few hours. Some people hated it, but I still appreciated the sentiment and let myself fester in the downpour when it arrived. I was rather surprised to note that my iPod hadn't exploded from water damage yet, and concluded that Adam Gonteir was more waterproof than I had expected. It could have been better; Kurosaki still insisted on going to the weekly meetings, to keep Hisagi company (A decision that I fully supported until I felt lonely and begged him to stay back for the night), but the times when we weren't laying hand in hand or swimming in the rain were spent texting one another. Using a Blackberry had been a strange experience for me. The buttons were really small and my fingers were just that bit too wide for me to type a word without including about seven unwanted letters, but I adapted. Now I could text at a reasonable speed; Kurosaki could wait by his phone for an answer rather than leaving to do something else and forgetting to return.

It was a dull kind of happiness.

I was perfectly happy to live in my safe bubble which only Kurosaki was allowed to enter; don't get me wrong. I loved it. We lived in this mundane little world where he cared for me and I nestled into our sweet routine like it was my own comforter. Everything happened on a schedule, but it never felt busy and it never felt forced. It all just slotted into place so flawlessly, happened so easily. When I smiled, it was because I was happy. He would hold me and I would smile and everything would be so different to normal - but not bad. Far from it. It was perfect; too perfect. I felt like it was going to crumble any moment. I was clinging to this modicum of happiness by the tips of my splitting fingernails. Nothing so perfect could last so long as it had now. Every economic boom withered out and failed with a crash; history had taught me that. Why was this any different? Kurosaki would realise just how much of a freak I was; he would find someone better and run into their strong arms. The thought crushed me, made me curl up in my dusty bed every night and force the tears back.

That's where I was currently. While my parents were busy drinking themselves into a cold, black slumber, I kept myself busy with my dreams. Kurosaki's face made a constant mirage across my vision and every time I tried to clutch at it, the image warped and twisted around my brittle fingers then dispersed. He was a black pool of hope which I couldn't quite reach, couldn't hold onto for long enough. He slipped through my grip, kept squirming away like a bar of soap. His face might reappear somewhere else in my conscience, only to be unreachable again. This time, it disappeared entirely. His deep, chocolate eyes were nowhere to be seen. The sun in my world had burned out, effervesced for a few brilliant moments then just vanished. Like the drop of an ice crystal, everything shattered. Panic set in when his face didn't return, didn't sooth my fragile emotions when they were already starting to split at the seams. I searched for him desperately; tried running after him but my legs wouldn't work, tried calling his name but no words rolled off my tongue. Instead, my shoulders shuddered sporadically, twitched as if I was having a fit until all I could do was fold myself in half and hold my body together. I waited patiently for the sobs to subside and for the image to come back, but no such luxury was granted. The entire world was black without the need for eyelids; like looking through a blindfold. _This wasn't right_. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to conjure up another picture. Kurosaki never left my mind for more than a minute for he was everything I needed to stay sane. So why wasn't he returning? Tears rolled down my cheeks, stinging my skin with the hot trails they left in their wake. I felt as though I was screaming, I could vaguely hear it, but no air was rushing past my teeth. No vibrations shook the walls of my cell. I focused on my breathing, the choked wails that I thought I'd been making, and realised they weren't even leaving my mouth. With twitching fingers, I reached up to stroke my flaking skin. Everything was in my head: the screaming, the crying; _Kurosaki._

My lips parted slightly. The room was cold; my breath formed a viscous trail of vapour every time I exhaled._ Who needs cigarettes?_

Frozen fingers fumbled for a blanket but found no solace in its tattered threads. Each woven string was pulled apart; it felt like clawing cobwebs. It floated down onto my stiff body and snuck into every crevice, every crease where my body folded in on itself until it felt as if I was restricted. I bolted up out of the bed and threw the blanket away with a desperate cry. It didn't even reach the wall. As it drifted downwards through the thick air, my mouth opened in slow horror. And then it landed - floated onto the floor like a dove's feather. Not a sound made but every reverberation shaking my depraved body until I could do no more than shudder and convulse. The tiny pin-drop was the catalyst for the imminent explosion; the point when the weight of the world _finally_ sank onto my shoulders. I'd never drowned before, but the way my lungs felt so full and so empty at the same made me think that _this _was what it would feel like. My eyes were lead - too heavy to stare at anything. But I didn't want to shut my eyes. Things can creep up on you when your vision is compromised. So I waited. And I stared. The room before started to run away from me, slithering further and further into the distance until I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything; couldn't _feel _anything except for the creeping worm of sheer terror which burrowed through every vein, every artery…

_I was going to die here._

I didn't even mean dying at that point. I'd had enough panic attacks to know they wouldn't kill me. But I was never leaving this house, never leaving this neighbourhood; this broken body deserved no more than the desecrated town where it lived. I'd earned no more and I'd earned no less. I hadn't gained the _right _to be happy somewhere else with Kurosaki.

_Kurosaki._

_He doesn't love you._

_Never will._

I clutched at my head. There were no voices, no clear cut words through the haze of panic and dread - but the implications of that incorrigible hum running through my brain were clear enough. My conscience mocked me. It wanted me to cry, to die here wrapped in a layer of misery - because it knew me the best. My mind could discern what I wanted most, what I wanted the least. It could twist and warp every little wish and every wretched desire and turn them against me. It knew _everything _about me. So when it was in a bad mood, nothing could stop it from tearing me apart. It _knew _what I sought after the most - it knew of my dreams of Kurosaki. For him to be here and to hold me; to turn to me and say _'It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get outta here.'_ And his sweet brogue would lull me into sanity until the tears only rolled down in pairs and I could see straight again.

It knew that I knew that wasn't going to happen.

It was round about then that I started to scream. Gut-wrenching sobs which were interlaced with '_Stop It'_sand Kurosaki's name. My fingers tried to thread themselves in my hair, but it suddenly felt akin to the blanket - greasy and thin, trying to caress my skin with its debauched touch. My hands flew to the bed instead but everywhere they landed just didn't feel right. The limbs were too heavy, yet too light. Too small yet too big. Everything was just fleeing my vision and I had no idea where I even was anymore.

_I need comfort._

My hand stretched to the table on its own accord. The action itself was painful, making another wave of panic and dread wash over me because I wasn't _still _anymore, but nonetheless I reached for the phone by my bedside. I willed my fingers to work, for that was the one thing that they wouldn't do. _Work. _They could shiver and shake all they wanted, twitched like a man with a nervous tic, but they just couldn't _work._ It was a simple thing - to curl inwards and clutch the small device, but it seemed like too great a task. _Everything _was too great a task. But still, I willed them to work. I screamed at them and sobbed and _begged _for them to just do one simple thing. _Pick up the fucking phone._ Why wouldn't they just do it? They laid across the cold piece of metal as though they were stuck to it with ice, but I no longer had the strength to even lift my arm.

My eyes honed in on the screen. Black and never-ending, showing the reflection of my decrepit visage. _What was I even doing? _I was never going to call him. I could force my fingers to hold the phone and dial the number; maybe even press the 'call' button. But as soon as his voice trailed through the phone I'd be stuck. I'd cry and I'd bawl and he wouldn't even care so he'd put the phone down. He never would want to see me this way, to hear the desperation in my voice as I begged him to come and help me.

_Speak of the devil._

Some song I couldn't even recognise anymore began to sing softly through my phone's speakers. The blackness of the screen suddenly wasn't so black anymore, instead glowing an orange - for all I could see was Kurosaki's hair and the freckles which appeared in the sun. He was smiling. He was happy. But his sweet countenance didn't soothe me the way it should. Because it wasn't him and I in that picture. _Just him. _He was perfectly capable of happiness when I wasn't there. He didn't sob and cry about how I would leave him, for I would never leave him. I couldn't get anyone better.

The phone still vibrated beneath my cold fingertips. My breath still got caught in my throat. My heart still jumped in my ribcage, but my fingers were starting to work again. Enough so that they could press the 'Accept' button.

Then it was silence.

I couldn't speak at all.

_"Tōshirō? You there?"_

The only reply he got was another sob from me. His voice, his face… it was all too much. I wasn't even drowning anymore, I was entirely gone. My lungs ached for air but none would come to them. It was the sheer moment between drowning and dying - that ease with which I could let go. Only, this time, letting go wasn't an option. Some greater, taunting force was coercing me to keep on clinging to the tendrils of life.

_"Hey! Tōshirō!" _His voice got louder and clearer as if he was pressing the phone closer to his mouth. _"What's wrong? Are ya' hurt?"_

"K-kuro-s-saki…" The name tumbled from my lips in such broken syllables that he probably couldn't even comprehend it. The phone was so far away from me that I wasn't even sure he could hear my words, so I whimpered instead. My head was pounding,absolutely _pulsating _as though my brain was trying to escape such a broken place as my very body.

_"I'm here, Tōshirō. Ya've gotta tell me what's wrong, baby."_

I wanted to bring the phone closer to me, but my fingers were losing their ability to work again. So instead, I tried to push my thoughts from my head through to my fingertips, as if I could transfer them to him that way. It didn't work, so I spluttered out another reply. "I-I'm s-so- I'm so-so sc-scared, K-kuros-saki."

_"Shh, ya're okay. 'm here. Tōshirō; are ya' hurt? Ya've gotta tell me."_

I shook my head, shuddering at the feeling said action sent throughout my entire body. Doing _anything_ at all was such a task that it was painful - it was _so _painful and so tiring. As was speaking, but Kurosaki couldn't see me shake my head. So I had to speak."N-no… Y-you-you've got-gotta c-com-me h-h-here."

_"Tōshirō, I-"_

"P-please." Another sob wracked every fibre of my body. "I-I j-ju-just c-can't t-tak-ke it."

The few seconds of pause felt like hours to me, hours of Kurosaki breathing down the phone. My ears felt so attuned to his voice, every noise he made - but those ragged breaths weren't ones typical of Kurosaki. They were unsure, pressured. There was a quiet mumble, not one directed to me.

Possibly days later, he finally breathed a response into the phone._"Are ya'at home?"_

"Y-yeah."

_"I'll be there." _

The call ended with a beep. So abruptly, and I couldn't even hear him breathe anymore. It was over so quickly, so inevitable. My head swam and I thought I might faint. He'd left me, left me alone when I could barely hold my own thoughts together. Coherency wasn't something I felt I had been blessed with. It had been taken from my grasp, from the fingers that formed a cage around it like brittle twigs. My conscience began to pulse and beat in my head again. He'd done nothing wrong. I'd told him I was scared and he'd come to help me, so why couldn't I shake the feeling that it was something more? That the words not spoken to me meant something more than they had; that it wasn't him asking for permission to come by? My hand slipped off the phone and onto the side of the bed, dragging the poor Blackberry with it so it clattered to the floor. Dwelling upon my suspicions didn't seem like a brilliant idea when I was overwhelmed with paranoia and fear.

I stared at the particles of dust that floated around the room, zipping from corner to corner like a mosquito in search of blood. Every weary breath I took sent another wave of them flying away from my face, dispersing into the air then dancing around in little circles. A sardonic smile tugged at my lips. There was a dark kind of humour to it all which I didn't even understand. The dust was floating away from me, staying outside of some bubble which I had erected with my very own breath. Every exhale made the barrier bigger and stronger, until I couldn't even see the dust bathing in the evening glow peering through the curtains. It was lonely without the floating specks of dirt to keep me company. Dirt didn't judge you, you see. It never mocked you nor spoke cruel words to you. It just did its own thing; being all floaty and defying gravity. Dirt was nice, I decided. I wanted to be friends with the dust - maybe it could comfort me a little. My breath hitched a little as to not push the dirt away anymore. I ceased to breathe, willing the dust to come back into view. My eyes darted across the room and scanned every corner to try and find even one piece of the dirt I wanted to become my friend. _Silence. Waiting. _And there it was - a single piece of dust. With wide eyes, I barely resisted the urge to breathe and push it away. My piece of dust bobbed along my vision, as though it was waving to me. My fingers twitched in a imperceptible wave.

"Ethan." I was glad to hear my voice wasn't wavering anymore. Though it was small and barely audible, it was comprehendible. That was good. "Your name is Ethan."

Ethan gave a twirl in response.

It could've been hours that I watched Ethan loop and prance around the room; I was too mesmerised by his movements to keep track of time. He was a graceful piece of dust. I wished I could dance the way he could. Occasionally the light would dim enough that I couldn't see Ethan anymore and the panic would begin to rise again, only for him to come back into sight and my nerves would calm. I wondered what it would be like for Ethan to speak. In my head he sounded similar to a chipmunk - because that is the voice we give to all things small. Except he wasn't really a chipmunk because chipmunks were furry and he was more dusty - so in my head he sounded like a three-year-old on tobacco.

_**I could've danced all night,**_he started singing in that gravelly voice I gave him. _**I could have danced all night and still have begged for more. **_He started to spin and twirl, the slight breeze coming from nowhere blowing his body away from me. I could only blink in response - for some reason my connection with Ethan withered with every inch he moved away from me. _**I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I've never done before…**_

I'm not sure when he finished singing, but I was glad for the silence. His voice was bringing back that pounding in my head. In any case, the sudden warmth by my side was much more soothing.

"Ya left yer door open," a voice breathed into my ear; a voice not distorted by a mobile phone. "Ya shouldn't do that when yer parents're outta the house."

"You came." And I couldn't quite believe the thought. I still felt like my body was lighter than it should have been and my brain still wasn't functioning correctly… but he was here. His body felt so solid and genuine against mine, the small layer of sweat from his apparently naked chest burning wherever my shirt wasn't covering skin. I'd never understood that. I'd read the books; falling in love with a god was supposed to feel numinous, feel as though you were just a spectator amongst his very own celestial life. But it didn't feel that way. My senses were heightened now, and I could intuit the notion that he was on the same level as me. He wasn't cool to touch or god-like; his touch didn't send sparks flying through my body. It wasn't like being struck by lightning - it was like lava. As though the earth's core was moving within my body, magma rumbling slowly towards every piece of flesh his fingers grazed. It was so _real, _every breath against my shoulder reminding me that he was here now in my bed. He was here to comfort me. He cared.

_Falling in love with a god…_

"'Course I did." The blunt tips of his fingernails trailed lightly up my arm, stopping at the hem of my shirt only to backtrack down the limb again. "What wa' worryin' ya?"

I think I'd finally allowed myself to admit to myself that I loved him. What else could it be? Why else would I feel so safe in his arms, not having to worry about him pushing me too far or saying something wrong? Or at least knowing that he would never intend to hurt me, and his apologies would be copious and frequent until I hit him over the head to stop. What else could explain the imminent sense that we'd been together for longer than we had, and would continue to be for so many more years to come. I could see it happening - I could see us ten years from now in a little shoebox apartment _somewhere_; him coming home from work to find dinner laid out. We'd hug and kiss and he'd tell me about his day. He might say something wrong and I'd freeze momentarily, a minute action that he'd pick up on all too quickly. And it'd take too long for me to convince him that I wasn't bothered by the offhand comment, but he'd soon let it slide and we would continue with dinner as if nothing had happened.

"You." I rolled over so I could look at him; see the light smattering of freckles across his nose which only appeared in summer. I watched him blink slowly, some new kind of emotion clear in his eyes. Something like sadness, something like confusion - something like regret. I'd always thought that the eyes being the mirror to the soul was an incredibly overrated and false statement; that was, until I'd met Kurosaki. Nothing quite compared to the way emotions were so lucid in the web of his irises. What exact emotion it was, was rarely clear to me - but he couldn't pull a deadpan. And I loved that. I could always get an idea of what he was feeling. "But you came; you didn't leave me. You won't leave me, will you?"

He blinked once; a languid action. He leaned forwards to press a chaste kiss to the tip of my nose, letting his lips linger a little longer before pulling back with a smile. "Go back ta' sleep, Tōshirō."

I snaked an arm around his waist and pulled myself into his grasp. Snuffling a little, I buried my face into his collar bone and wondered where his shirt was. When his arms cradled me back, it was hard to care. I'd gotten past the paranoia and was currently floating in a dizzy kind of haze, still feeling light-headed but it was kind of nice; soothing. I wasn't cold anymore, it was hard to be when I had a human hot-water-bottle. I felt the kiss being pressed to my temple, and heard the tune being hummed next to my ear. It was Kurosaki's latest song obsession (he only knew the words of the chorus) and one that had been growing on me as of late. He continued to feather kisses across my forehead and hairline, never missing a note or a beat while he did so. The cloud of safe and calm and warmth he'd created with his presence was soon starting to lull me into an almost drug-induced sleep. My mind allowed me to release my grasp on reality, on consciousness, and I started to fall into a comforting blackness. My last thought was that there was a leak in the room, for I swore I felt something wet drip onto my cheek.

_**"Just close your eyes; the sun is going down. You'll be alright; no-one can hurt you now. Come morning light you and I'll be safe and sound."**_

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><p>I'd expected him to be there when I woke up, looking down upon me as I slept or his own eyes fluttered shut with lips parted like two pink petals. It was a selfish thought, but I'd really wanted him to be holding me. It was the first time he'd spent the night, the first time we'd ever fallen asleep in one another's arms. And, because I was a hopelessly amorous at heart, I'd wanted to wake up in the same way - awaken like they did in those romance novels where our legs were intertwined and the smiles reached our eyes.<p>

But that didn't happen. The bed was cold where he'd slept, his musky smell just lingering in the frosty room. The sheets had been smoothed out, the pillow fluffed - and the only evidence that anyone had ever been there to begin with was the piece of lined paper on the space next to me. Trust Kurosaki.

I couldn't bring myself to look at what it said for a few minutes. I was too tired and the light streaming through the window was too bright and the area where I'd slept was too warm to leave. But I became restless quickly, eager to see what the note said. It was just him explaining that he had to go home early or something, but seeing Kurosaki's handwriting was a pleasure I'd been rarely graced with and anything he did was interesting to me. Instead of moving from my warm patch, I flung an arm over and patted the pillow, finding my fingers still weren't working too well. I convinced myself it was just lethargy and grabbed the paper, holding it up to the light. I squinted, waiting for my eyes to focus.

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><p><em><strong>Tōshirō.<strong>_

_**I don't know how to fluff this up, to make it sound less harsh, but I think we should break up.**_

_**Believe me when I say it's not you. You don't know how long I've spent contemplating this.**_

_**I'm sorry I had to tell you like this. I didn't want to wake you up.**_

_**Please just know how hard this was for me.**_

_**Goodbye. I'm sorry.**_

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><p>I blinked at the message; read it through twice. Then twice more.<p>

This was a joke

It had to be.

But then, there it was. And Kurosaki was never one to joke about these kinds of things.

Blankly, I reached across towards my phone again, grabbing it and eying the '_Five Unread Messages' _flashing across the screen.

_**'God, I'm sorry.'**_

_**'Please don't hate me.'**_

_**'Tōshirō?'**_

_**'Say something, please.'**_

_**'I love you.'**_

It surprised me that I didn't cry. I just felt numb. Every single goddamned feeling I'd ever had just pushed itself to the side. They gladly handed themselves over, handcuffed and all, to be locked away; to let my subconscious swallow the key, never to let them free again. And I let them do just that. It was easier that way. That dusted Pandora's box in the back of my mind had opened briefly; tormenting me with the idea that good things would come from it. Happiness, joy, the hope of companionship - they had all flooded out in a sea of dewy grass and kisses to the nose. Now, all I could do was shove everything back in there and kick it into the flames. I held my breath for a few long seconds, as if waiting for the package to burn away - for something to change. Naturally, it did nothing to comfort me. If anything, detaching myself from the memories of him only made it worse. Now I had nothing of that happiness to remember. I grappled amongst the ashes , hoping for a little scrap of his presence to come back to me. And it was all there. Of course it was. I couldn't burn something like that, I couldn't just throw away his love like it was something disposable.

_Love._

Who was he to do that - break up with me then tell me he loves me?

For a few moments I truly hated him; saw his face behind a red lens and wanted to hit him. I wanted to slap him and cry, because this was all his fault. He'd made me open up to him, something _Tōshirō Hitsugaya _did not do. I hated him for ever letting me feel _something, _because I was so used to that black hole where happiness should have been - and that place which he'd filled with care and love was imploding in on itself; the ability to _not feel _wasn't something I could do anymore. I'd _felt_, and I could no longer live without some kind of emotion. So where I'd anticipated nothing, I felt nothing but despair.

And it hurt. I thought my chest was going to be crushed under the sheer weight of it.

I dialled the number which was ingrained into my memory like Braille. I'd deal with this the only way I knew how.

The answer was almost instantaneous. _"Hullo?"_

"I need some."

The snake-like hiss, which was most likely his version of a cackle, that crackled down the line made me wince. _"Mmh, Tōshirō! Haven't heard from ya' in s'ch a long time. How've ya been doin'?"_

"I ain't fucking, Ichimaru." I ground my teeth. His derision did nothing to deter my mood. Anger still pulsated through every cell of my body, trying in vain to negate my misery. "Tell me where and what price."

He inhaled infuriatingly slowly, most likely preparing himself for that sultry voice he used whenever he needed something, and I could heard the shit-eating grin on his face. _"I think ya' kno' yer price, kitten."_

Where there was normally a pause to shudder, there were words. "I'll be down by the dumpster in ten."

Gin was always the one to end the call, it was an unspoken rule, so when the call didn't end I clenched my free fist and waited for him to continue. Tears were already rolling down my face and my breath was ragged - and whether in frustration or melancholy, I couldn't quite tell.

_"Tōshirō?"_

"…"

He took my silence as confirmation to continue. _"Go all th'way and I'll chuck in some vodka." _With that, he hung up.

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><p>Gin Ichimaru sauntered down the alleyway, plastic bag swinging from the crook of his arm, with that grin that reached his ears. I was sure it was him, even without seeing his features; I could only make out the silhouette of a man, but it was clear who it was - for those red-slit eyes and silver hair which seemed to reflect the flickering street lights weren't something that you could forget. If the rest of him changed, if he got fat or his skin turned yellow, he'd still be Ichimaru for no other man had those eyes. That predatory gaze which usually made me shiver did nothing to move me now. Such scrutiny meant nothing to me anymore. It briefly made me uncomfortable. With each step he took, I felt the imminent sense that this was wrong. With every such thought, an alternate one reminded me that Kurosaki had left me.<p>

"You're late."

He shrugged and tossed the bag onto the floor. "'ey, ya' di'n't gimme much notice, didja, pet? Had ta go get some."

"I don't care about your day, Ichimaru." In no state to draw this out, I slammed his body into the dumpster and began tearing off his shirt. Buttons popped from the material and cycled away across the gravel. I licked a clean line up his torso and felt the muscles twitch under the ministrations. "Let's just get this over with so I can drink myself comatose."

I latched onto a nipple and began to suck harshly, nipping at the hardening bud. I pinched the other with blunt fingernails and scratched lines down his chest. Gin _moaned_, deep and low. He liked it rough - and the more I pleased, the more I got. I needed all I could get. I needed enough that I was willing to let this man fuck me raw just to forget. The thing which I'd been so reluctant to do for Kurosaki was the exact thing I needed to do to forget about him. The irony was bitter and the sting it brought in my chest was unwelcome.

I glanced up briefly to see if he was enjoying it enough, but when I did so he clasped my cheeks between two gaunt hands. "Hey, ya've been cryin'. Who upset ya, kitten?"

I tore my head from his grasp and began to work on his trousers. "Like you care."

"I do." He grabbed my chin and tilted it upwards, forcing me to look at him. The reds of his irises were peeking out from under two pale eyelids. His voice was soft when he spoke. "Ya kno' I wouldn't break yer heart."

He wouldn't; I wouldn't have given him my heart to break. "Go fuck yourself."

His grin turned malevolent again and he pulled my head up and crushed his lips to mine. Grimacing, I broke away. Kissing was off-limits. He should have known that by now. Instead of complaining, he hooked a thumb inside the rim of my trousers and pulled at the hem, brow raised quizzically. For all the times I'd seen his cock, he'd never once gotten a look at mine. I'd hoped to keep it that way but things didn't always go the way they planned, did they?

He flipped me around and yanked the jeans down, slapping my ass _hard _before grinding into it. No pain came, nor pleasure when I felt his erection sliding against my bare skin. Instead, I hated it. I hated how much it should've meant to me, and how little it actually did. For all the shit I'd put up with, I'd thought my first (consensual) time would have at least had something more to it. I'd had the hope that something more would have come of the experience. Instead, I was about to be fucked against a dumpster for drugs. It was stupid of me to expect more.

My mind rejected the experience. The next thing I remembered was being slumped against said dumpster, smoking crack and washing the taste down with vodka. I didn't think of Kurosaki when I fell unconscious. Not once.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Only two more chapters left! For a birthday present I was supposed to give months ago, I didn't do very well at getting the smut out on time o3o;<strong>_

_**It took me a while to decide how Tōshirō would react. There was the 'Burst into tears' method, the 'Kick things until he breaks his foot' version - in the end I decided it was best for him to have a conflicting sense of despair and numbness and willingness to get over him. Tell me how that went out :3**_

_**This was actually quite a hard chapter for me to write. When Tōshirō was panicking it's really difficult to portray the emotions you feel in a panic attack whilst still seeming coherent. Because nothing about them are very coherent. It's an imminent and impending sense of falling and drowning and dying and just wanting it to end. The same goes for grief. Trying to write controlled chaos is kinda odd. So if I didn't describe it very well or clearly then please tell me :3**_

_**The song Ichigo was singing was 'Safe and Sound' by Taylor Swift. I'm an avid Hunger Games fan, kay? And it's a pretty nice song as well. And Ichigo's hidden talent for music? Nah, he's no singer. But everyone can sing given to circumstances.**_

_**If anyone wants to tell me this, which story do you want the next chapter of? Because I'm all for writing Shooter or MD next, so whatever you guys want is fine. Also, if anybody wants to make a cover for this story, that'd be super cool :3 I'd do it, but doing a GCSE in Art has sucked all the fun out of drawing for me. I haven't drawn anything I want since roughly October. It's too much stress.  
><strong>_


	4. Chapter 4

_Before the official Author's Note, I want to ask you guys if you think it's a good idea that I make a new account for Glee fanfictions? I'm pretty set on doing it so I can separate parts of my life as I do with everything else, but if anyone thinks it's a bad idea then tell me?_

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><p><em><strong>Okay so I'm writing this author's note before I actually started the chapter (logic) so I don't know how long this chapter will take to write. I'm suspecting three months. I just got loaded with news of MANY exams in this term. Apparently they marked our German Writing exams oddly hard so we have to redo them. Which means, I'll have done six German writing exams. Four of which are now void. *hates life* Plus our English teacher like, got sick for half a year so we're behind on that as well.<strong>_

_**School sucks, guys. Don't do it.**_

_**Bad advice. It gets you a job.**_

_**So here is the penultimate chapter of Momentary Delusions! It feels a little cheesy that I still appoint songs to the chapter, but whatever. I feel the need to having something there that isn't story. In my case, that is song lyrics or a quote. But the song here is 'Prayer' by 'Secret Garden'. Beautiful song. Exactly the song I wrote this story to.**_

* * *

><p><em>Let your arms enfold us<em>

_Through the dark of night._

_Will your angels hold us 'til we see the light?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Momentary Delusions: Chapter 4<strong>_

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><p>White. Everything was fucking white. Not even the nice kind of white which bathed you in its cool glow and soothed your sore muscles. God no, this white hurt my eyes. It was white freckled with black where my vision hadn't quite become of use to me again. The throbbing in my temples worsened when I flicked my eyes up and looked into what I thought was a light. Instead of suffering opening my eyes to see where I was, I let them flutter shut and tried listening instead. Honestly, there was little difference. What I assumed were hushed whispers from the end of the bed sounded like a car crash to me, and the groan of pain to my left would have made me cringe if I could move. My limbs felt extremely heavy, like they were tied down to wherever I was. I had this metallic taste in my mouth, like I'd bitten my tongue and blood was freely flowing across my taste buds. And I felt like I was in some kind of drug induced state, because my mind was too fuzzy to work properly. If you presented me with something, I wondered briefly if I'd be able to recognise it.<p>

_"When d'ya think he's gonna wake up?"_

_Oh._

Except that.

_"We don't know, Mr. Kurosaki. Normally we'd give it a few days, however Mr. Hitsugaya here is relatively small for his age, and the amount of alcohol he consumed after doesn't help his cause."_

I didn't really know what they were talking about. Well, that's a lie. They were talking about me, Kurosaki and this second man. Though I couldn't imagine why. I wasn't waking up for some reason and I'd drank. Something had to have happened, hadn't it?

_"But... could he wake up sooner?"_

Kurosaki was worried about me.

_"I cannot say, sir. I mean, does Mr. Hitsugaya have a history with drugs? That could have raised his immunity, per say."_

Drugs? Had I taken them again? That couldn't be right; I swore myself abstinent the last time I overdosed, left nearly dying by the side of a kerb. I couldn't even remember why I did it anymore - life had just gotten too shit. But this time, I knew it was more. It had hurt more this time, because my headache was more excruciating, my limbs were more numb; my mind was fuzzier. I wracked my brains, trying to remember if anything had happened. Nothing, really. A few alcohol-hazed memories of _something_, though I couldn't quite remember what. There was a gap in my memory, because the last thing I remembered was panicking. Hard.

_Oh._

That was right. Kurosaki had come to comfort me. Kurosaki had slept in my bed.

Kurosaki had broken up with me.

And now he was here.

"Nygghh..." I had to groan. I couldn't speak but I needed his attention. Why the hell was he here? Memories came back to me in pathetic waves, rather than one sweeping flood. I'd panicked for no reason. Kurosaki had slept in my bed. He'd rung me. I'd been left on the sidewalk drunk and drugged. _He'd broken up with me. _Chronology didn't exist in my hazed stupor, neither did logic. He loved me, but he'd broken up with me. He regretted breaking up with me but he did it anyway. When I tried to work over that sentiment, every word he'd said to me trickled back into my head. _**Shh, ya're okay. **__**Ya left yer door open. Go back ta' sleep. **__**You and I'll be safe and sound. Goodbye. I'm sorry.**_

"T-Tōshirō?" A rough hand grabbed mine, thumb stroking over the skin. There was a point where it disappeared for a bit, pushing something into my skin, then resumed its path. It was like there was a tube in my hand. "Tōshirō? Are ya' awake? C-can ya' speak ta' me?"

I rolled my head to the side where the voice was coming from. I knew that I shouldn't be doing this to myself, shouldn't be drawn towards his voice as though it were the light guiding the way to Jesus, but I had to see him. It was like fighting that indelible urge to shudder, not knowing why it was coming to you at _this _point but knowing you need to do it. Not doing it would just hurt too much. Like the lights. But I could do that for him, I could look into the cruel white that greeted my open eyes because a warm orange would be there to dull the pain.

Dear God, the colour orange had never looked so amazing.

"Hey." Nothing but teeth and freckles and smiles. Warm, chocolate eyes and tanned skin. Why had I ever been mad at him?

"Hey." How small my voice was surprised me. I blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the light. It hit me then that I was probably in a hospital. That would make sense, considering I had a tube in my hand and people were groaning in pain around me. "How... you...?"

He bit his lip lightly, shoulders shuddering a little. He looked down. "Only you would ask me how I were after yer've been in a coma fer two days, wouldn'tcha?"

I looked right at him, shifting my head a little to look at his eyes. They were screwed shut, lashes glistening. Why was he upset? Two days wasn't _that_ long, right?

"You're... why here?" I was suddenly aware of how tired I was. I shouldn't have been, considering that I'd just slept for two days according to him.

The person I assumed was the doctor he'd been talking to moved to my other side, taking my wrist and checking my pulse. There was a monitor bleeping on that side as well, so he was probably looking at that. My nose itched a little, so I screwed it up and felt something blocking it. So I had a tube in there. I'll bet I looked a sorry state.

Kurosaki glanced upwards, a small smile tugging his lips. I frowned. Something was wrong with him. Dark circles were daubed under his eyes, the skin pulled down onto his cheeks. His nose was a patchy kind of red, matching his bloodshot eyes. He looked like shit, but he looked happy. I wasn't even sure that was a legitimate combination. Where his eyes weren't a horrible pink, they were a deep cocoa. Where his lips weren't swollen from biting them, they were pulled up into a smile of relief.

It gave me a little hope that he still cared.

He reached forward to run a hand through my hair and tenderly massaged my scalp. "Ya must be tired, Tōshirō."

I leaned into his touch, wondering how I could miss it so much when it was already on me. "Mmhm..."

"Go back ta' sleep, Tōshirō..."

So I did.

* * *

><p>I couldn't really count the amount of times I woke up after that first time. Frankly, not much happened in the times when I did. I never really remembered falling back to sleep either, only the intervals between - that horrible montage of Kurosaki's face and the emotions that slithered across it each time I woke. Elated. Happy. Surprised. Sad. Then there was that small smile of sad recognition, as if I would never truly wake up again. I was determined to stay conscious after that. My limbs felt dead from my comatose state and if I didn't move around soon, I was worried I never would.<p>

Unfortunately for me, it was a couple of days before the doctors took enough of the wires out of my body for me to walk again. It was like that feeling of falling asleep for an hour in the middle of the day, then waking up and finding everything too quiet and your legs unable to work. Kurosaki was right there, though - the patches under his eyes near black with lack of sleep - to hold the crook of my elbow and guide me across the room. I nearly tripped about three times, but it was nothing compared to when I made a lap of the bed on my own. Kurosaki had really smiled then; the kind of grin that reached your chin and stretched to your ears.

When the time came for me to be released, I wondered briefly why my parents hadn't come. Not because I wanted them to, or even expected them to do so, but because the nurses gave no indication that they'd even been informed. I hadn't been sent an apologetic '_Your parents couldn't be here_', or even a more truthful '_They couldn't be bothered_'. Kurosaki cleared that one up.

"Me Dad pulled some strings; said he were in charge of yer or summet."

For that, I was grateful.

Kurosaki wanted me to stay with him for a while to recuperate, though I refused. I wanted to go back to my parent's house again. I needed to remind myself that he was leaving, that he was living his life without me. I wasn't going to get his love anymore, nor his reverence or his sweet ministrations which left me blushing with delight. I'd have to learn to live without Kurosaki, why not start now? _Now there's a sore spot. _Kurosaki ushered me into my own house like I was a guest, then shut the door behind him. There was no warm light, no homely feel coming from this particular hallway. Just shadows, draughts... and a sorrowful look in Kurosaki's eyes that I couldn't decipher. I dropped the small stack of pamphlets that the hospital had issued me with onto the shoe-rack on the wall and stared back at him. Why would he do this again? He'd broken up with me. There wasn't any obligation anymore. There were no feelings between us, clearly. There was _nothing _anymore, nothing that meant he was coerced into staying with me while I was bed-ridden. Nothing that meant he should help me home again.

"Where're yer parents?"

"Why?" _Fuck the parents._ I took a step closer to him, glaring up with what I hoped was resentment but was probably coming off as desperation. "You broke up with me. You didn't have to stay with me, you could've just gone and played out your life like a normal person, not some saviour trying to rescue the poor druggie with parents who don't care and a severe aversion to people." I fisted his shirt and tugged on it fruitlessly. "You're the kind of guy who could have anyone they wanted - boy or girl - 'cause you've got just the right balance of innocence and sex appeal and charm... and your back-story to top it all off. Who could resist the guy who pulled through being kidnapped, huh? That brave little guy who was stolen by the big bad wolf and made it out alive? _Nobody_. 'Cause you trapped me too, didn't you? You came along with your story and your hair and your _freaking gorgeous face _ and you had to go and capture me just like _he _did, only I can't get out of it because_ I care too much_."

There was a point when I'd started screaming and crying, though I wasn't too sure when that point came. All I knew was he was holding me, hushing me and stroking my hair.

And I'd never felt more right.

"Tōshirō," he breathed into my scalp. "Ya read th'note, didn'tcha? Ya know I didn't want to break up with yer! I never want tha'."

"_Then why would you?!_" I pounded a fist against his chest. "Why did you just toss me aside like I mean nothing? Because I need to feel like I mean _something_, you know that,and you were the only thing in this fucking town that made me feel like I was worth _anything_." Tears streaked down my cheeks; dripped onto the floor, but I felt no urge to scrub at them. My eyes were closed anyway. "Why did you make me fall for you? Why couldn't you just have swanned your way in and out of here and hit on Grimmjow or something?"

I sobbed silently into his torso. I hated him, I really did... but I needed to cry and he was there. And I didn't hate him really, did I? I was in love with him. I was so in love with him that it hurt, that the only way I could possibly not love him is if I was dead.

_So that's why that happened then._

He stroked my hair and buried his face in the crook of my neck. If he loved me he would have kissed the column of skin. But he didn't. He just whispered the words into the nape.

"I know about yer Dad. Yer real one."

_Ah_. Of course he knew, his own dad was a fucking politician; it's not like he'd let anything slip by him. He'd hear I was at rehab and look me up, wouldn't he? He'd tell Kurosaki before he got in too deep and make him leave me. Because I was worthless, wasn't I? I was just the kid who got raped, the kid who nearly got killed - the kid who was _expected _to turn out a failure. And no son of Kurosaki Isshin would date a failure. Kurosaki was worth more than that, worth more than _me._

And, for some reason, the truth hurt more than it should.

"So that's why?" It was barely a whisper. "I'm not good enough. I got raped by my own father and you just couldn't take that. So you threw me away."

"Not at all." He pulled me away from his chest, swiping a thumb over my cheek to dry the tears. I noted the water mirrored on his own face. "That's wha' made me _want _ta be with ya. I've known since before we met, y'know? M'Dad researched this place b'fore we came 'ere, 'nd I saw that a young boy named Hitsugaya Tōshirō lived 'ere and he were what they called a 'train wreck'."

I began to sink to the ground. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want him to tell me that he came here just for me, because I couldn't handle that. He didn't move from England just to be with _me_, all to throw it away. It made no sense. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't be with me for one reason and break up with me for the very same cause. But it was the only explanation.

_My head hurts_.

He dropped to the floor with me. Legs crossed, he grabbed both of my hands as though we were in a kind of two-person sharing circle. "There wa' pictures of ya sat drinkin' and takin' drugs, and me Dad nearly gave up on this place entirely 'til I pointed out Urahara's place." He released a hand and used that arm to wipe his face clear. His fingers were in mine almost quicker than I registered they'd gone. He glanced at the ground. "I couldn't go on with me life knowin' I'd passed up on the chance ta' meetcha. Dad said ya' wa' hopeless, but I din't think ya were." His entire body leaned closer to mine, as though divulging a secret. "Ya were so beautiful, Tōshirō. Ya' face, ya' eyes, ya' lips... ya' were like a diamond covered in mud ta' me. Rough around th'edges but underneath-" he moved both our hands to hover hover my chest, my heart "-everythin' aboutcha cried out fer help. You were just _pleading _for someone ta' help ya', and who were I to say no?"

"So why are you leaving me?" It was a question left hanging. "Why won't you just give me an answer?"

His hand tensed, then left mine to rest on his lap. I moved my own to mirror the action.

"I dun wantcha ta' hate me," was all he said.

I hated myself for saying it before the words even left my mouth. "Anymore than I do already?"

His head snapped up and his bottom lip quivered noticeably, until his entire figure sank - the grip on my hand tightening. He let out one single, ragged breath. "Oh, Tōshirō. Gods, no. P-please... don't hate me." He leaned forward and grabbed both my knees. "I-I couldn't live with meself if ya' hated me." Tears. They fell. "Please, I-I only wanted to protect ya'."

"What, by taking away my protector?!" Again with the yelling. My throat was hoarse from the shrieking and the crying. "_You _were what made me safe. I can barely _think _straight when you're not around, how did you think I'd react if you broke up with me?! What the _hell _would make you think that?"

Kurosaki's shoulders shook, head shaking in a desperate plea for me not to ask. But I was asking. I deserved at least that much. I stared him down, ignoring the burning behind my eyes that were yet more unshed tears. I'd cried enough for one night.

With a final pleading look, he glanced away and acquiesced. "Daichi committed suicide."

"…"

I barely had the time to process the thought before he was speaking again.

"Seems like th'bastard couldn't handle th'idea of being locked up fer twenty, so 'e offed 'imself before someone else beat 'im to it. So me Dad found out 'nd he's deemed it acceptable fer us ta' move back ta' England considering he wan't getting out anymore and I thought it'd be so much better if I jus' cut meself off from ya' instead'a tryin' ta' make it work 'cause we both watched th'Notebook and ya' know how that turned out and I dun want us ta' end up fighting from th'distance but it's jus' 'cause ya' mean so much to me, not 'cause I dun love ya-"

His words were muffled by my lips. I needed him to shut up and I needed him to shut up right now, because I couldn't listen to him babble. The only things I heard were that he was moving back to England and he really _had _wanted to protect me. But he was moving to _England. _Murky England with its melancholy rain and the fog which left you in the dark, taking Kurosaki away from my grasps. It wasn't a matter of who wanted what anymore - we'd both want each other, that was never going to change. But we couldn't do it - I couldn't handle him being mine but being so far away. It would never work, because England was where I wasn't. I screwed my eyes even further shut and came to my determined resolution. His lips were moving like he was trying to continue speaking, but I just pressed myself further into him. Lava seemed to be moving under my skin, burning through his flesh and melting us into this one being that I could no longer identify. There was no Tōshirō, no Kurosaki – just a wonderful blend of _TōshirōandKurosaki_ where there was no ending and no beginning. I grabbed the back of his neck with a little more force than necessary and clambered onto his lap; locked my ankles behind his back so I was bespoke for his body. I needed to be closer to him, I wanted to climb inside him and wear him like a blanket, but there was no way that could happen. But still, I could get close.

I pulled back just so my mouth could form words, still brushing lightly against his lips. "Make love to me."

He half-froze, half-gasped and half-moaned when I licked a trail up his jawline. He clearly hadn't shaved in a while; the course hairs were sending tingles across my tongue.

He _audibly _tried to remove me. "Ya' dun hafta do tha' jus' fer me, Tōshirō."

I ignored him. His neck was there for me and I _wanted _it, I wanted it more than I wanted to breathe - more than I wanted him to stay. I sank my lips down onto the column of skin and _sucked_; nipped and bit at the skin until it purpled and bruised. I needed to mark him. He could move away, he could leave me but he would always be _mine. _It didn't matter where he went. He'd always be mine. Maybe I wouldn't be his, maybe he'd leave me for someone better. But I'd always consider him my first love, my first kiss, my first time.

But then I was being pushed away.

"Tōshirō, I mean it." His lips were swollen. "Yer jus' doin' this 'cause yer hurt."

"No." And I meant it. I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm doing this because you're moving to England and I don't want to have to let you go away when I haven't shown you just how much you mean to me."

"Ya' already-"

"_No I haven't._" I was clasping his hands, clutching them against my chest. "I haven't shown you anything of what you mean to me. I've hugged you and kissed you and told you how much you mean, but I never once _showed _it." Ordinarily I would have stopped by now - blushed profusely and let him finish off the sentiments. But this was my turn. "I want to show you now. I want to prove to you that I can do this for you, because it's only ever been for _you_ ."

And then his lips were on mine again, kissing zealously and pushing his whole body flush against mine; it took all my strength to just stay upright. Try as I might, though; he was leaning into me too fervently for my smaller figure to hold itself up and I crashed to the floor instead. He took no notice and just attacked my lips harder. His tongue was practically _excavating_ my mouth, licking and rubbing at every corner and piece of flesh that it could find. I could barely keep up, knocking my teeth against his too many times to count to try and match his pace. It was sloppy and messy and agonising, but it was him. I'd never felt such ardency from one sole being. And when his bit my lip and tugged it I could only moan into the heat. Leaning on my elbows, I pushed up further into him before tugging him down to crush me even more. His breaths were quick and heavy from his nose, tickling my cheek. This was what I needed, the absolute proximity that was too close and not close enough - all bundled in one perfect mix of pleasure and hurt.

His cock was pressing against my thigh. I rocked up into it which elicited a deep, gravelly groan from him. I half-grinned under his lips - I never thought I'd be the one to drive him insane. After all, it wasn't like he did that every day to me. He rolled his hips down into mine, forcing out a much less manly whine from my own lips and I had to pull back for a second.

His eyes were hooded and his lips were bruised and red. "Are ya-"

"_I'm fine._" Because I knew what he was going to ask. "I just... I don't want it to be over too quickly."

He gave a slow nod. "Then jus' kiss me."

I did.

This one was slow and deep; sensual - eliciting every response from me it could. Even though I wanted to keep it slow, my hips bucked up all the same. I moaned and whimpered into his mouth, forgetting about any restraint I had. It wasn't even as passionate as the last one, not licking at my nerves with the kind of heat only a branding iron could give. It felt amicable, close, _real_. He felt like _Kurosaki _and it felt like he wanted _me_ - not my body or just to use me for sex. It was too unfamiliar a feeling. His fingers threaded through my hair and tugged ever so slightly, so I pulled away and let him drag his lips across my neck. I felt oddly naked, having him so close to my jugular. There was no control, he could do anything to me. He could feel the blood gushing through my veins, could smell the sweat radiating off my neck. Every part of muscle and sinew was there for him to do as he pleased. He could bite me and I'd be powerless, but the point was that I trusted him not to. I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He suckled on my pulse point.

_Oh._

So maybe I had a thing for necks.

I didn't really know what to do with my hands, so I grappled with the fabric of his jumper. Breathy gasps escaped my lips every few seconds, interlaced with his name and other nonsensical words and expletives. I might have heard my own name somewhere from his own mouth but I couldn't be sure.

"D-do you- _ah_... uhm, bed? _Nghh-_" I didn't expect myself to be falling apart quite so quickly.

Pressing one last, open mouthed kiss to my jawline, he pulled apart and nodded. "Absolutely."

After jumping up with a speed I didn't know he possessed, he grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet before darting off down the hallway. I grinned and followed in tow. The poor boy was excited, even an idiot would be able to tell; he kept opening doors and flinging them shut in frustration when they weren't the right ones. Ignoring the throbbing against my slacks, I watched with a wonky smile at the man who darted between doors.

He opened one more and stopped short, frowning. "Where're ya parents?"

Oh right. He'd asked that before. I'd never answered. "Probably out. Does it matter?"

Well he turned to me with a positively dangerous grin. "Well their bed seems bigger than yers."

My eyes bulged. He wanted us to-

I didn't even finish the thought before he was pulling his jumper over his head and striding into the room. I suppose it was only polite to follow in suit.

I wasn't particularly ashamed of my body, not anymore. Maybe I had been at one point, but Kurosaki had changed that. He'd made it seem like _someone_ could like me, that they could like my smaller stature and could appreciate the lack of six-pack. I wasn't fat by any means, but there were no bulging muscles or rippling flesh. After tossing my own shirt to the side and walking in, I realised I was nothing like Kurosaki. He had the sought-after body of an athlete, bulging with sinew and rippling like water when he moved. But he didn't seem to notice. Not at all. He spun me and slammed my frame against the wall. Lips found mine and moved slick with saliva. Teeth clacked, lips were pulled into one another's mouth - it was nothing but hot and desperate lust.

"Why've I never seen ya before..." he gasped between kisses. "Yer so beautiful, Tōshirō." His hands made to grab my ass and pull me up towards him. "_So _beautiful..."

I hooked a leg around his thigh and he yanked me up. I tried to wrap both legs around his hips, thought I never quite warned Kurosaki of this fact and he almost dropped me. There was a few seconds of awkward shifting and awkward laughing until I was secure against the wall and around his waist. This was better, not having to reach up to his mouth. For the first time, I felt equal to someone, not having to crane my neck to lick at their lips. I leaned forward to test this theory and discovered that it was, in fact, much nicer to not have to stretch.

"Weather's nice up here," I muttered against his mouth, dragging my tongue across his lower lip in asking.

He chuckled, a low and gravelly sound. "Dun get used t'it, I'll be 'avin' ya on 'bed soon enough."

My cock twitched _'Yes'._

But not yet. I rutted my hips forward, gyrating against him until a low groan came from his mouth. Then his head was being thrown back, exposing that long column of skin that I just needed to kiss. And kiss I did. More moans dropped, sounding more like a tinkling of bells against the musky air, and his own crotch ground against mine. I licked and suckled like I was trying to draw blood, and I might have done when I bit down but I couldn't be too sure - because we were humping like dogs and that jolt of pleasure it sent with every movement was enough to make sure I couldn't tell you where I was, let alone taste anything that wasn't sex and lust.

I let out my own breathy gasp when his fingers dipped below my waistline, just stroking the skin near my ass. They never delved deeper, never went too far... but I wanted them to go further. This wasn't like before. There was no fear, no '_Just get this over with_' as had been with Ichimaru - there was just the complete desire and longing to have him closer to me, to have him inside me. I pushed back against the fingers, sort of pulling myself up and down on them in an attempt to push them further down.

Kurosaki chuckled. "Ya' wan' 'em?"

I nodded and whimpered, latching onto his jaw to try and persuade him more. I felt, rather than saw, him grin.

"Tell me whatcha wan', Tōshirō. D'ya wan' mah fingers in yer ass?"

I positively groaned. He could _not _get away with saying things like that. It wasn't fair to me. Yanking his hair back with one hand and stroking his chest with the other, I licked a couple of times around his Adam's Apple, kissing it and sighing when he swallowed. It tickled my lips. I moved my hand down and found a nipple, pert and just waiting to be touched. I pinched it and began to roll it between my fingers, revelling in the delicious sounds spilling from Kurosaki.

"_Oh..._ Come on, Tōshirō- _ah_, tell me what you-_oh God-_"

"I think you're in no position to be asking me what I want, Kurosaki." I took his earlobe between my teeth and gently bit down.

He groaned. "Yeah... yeah let's- _ah -_ bed. On th'bed."

I would've quite happily walked towards the mattress, though Kurosaki seemed reluctant to let go and carried me towards it instead, dropping me quite ungracefully and moving straight to take a nipple between his lips. What escaped my mouth was less of a moan and more of a yelp. If I had a thing for necks then I had several things and an obsession for nipples. He massaged the other between his fingers, lightly tugging and flicking across the bud. I writhed beneath him; bucked up to try and gain some friction that wasn't rough denim. Come to think of it, my cock was straining against my jeans and it hurt like a bitch. While he was otherwise occupied, I pulled my zipper down and went for his as well, fumbling for a few seconds before he realised what I was doing and took over.

I stared with awe at the bulge pushing against his boxers. It was impressive, how well-hung he was. Though I was drawn more to the wet patch appearing. I wanted to touch it, to stroke it and trail my mouth over it. Gently pushing on his stomach, I turned him onto his back and moved my mouth down to his crotch

His eyes dilated. "Oh god-"

I pressed kisses to the fabric. I mouthed over his clothed erection, blowing and dipping out my tongue to taste the pre-cum. It left me salivating. Kurosaki _whined_, high pitched and full of need. His fingers interlaced my hair and he tugged me closer to him. I licked and suckled at the cloth. It wasn't nearly enough. Would he let me blow him? His gasping breaths and throaty moans seemed evidence enough, but I nuzzled my nose in the crook of his thigh in askance anyway; peeked my nose into the material of his boxers.

"Oh God... please." If his voice got any higher...

I dragged out the process a little. I kissed at his thigh, nibbled at the skin. "Please what?"

Kurosaki chuckled right until the moment I pulled his shorts back just a little with my teeth. "Ya know damned well."

I crooked an eyebrow. I did indeed know what he wanted. Whether I'd give it to him was a whole other matter. "Not at all, do tell." I licked around the seam of the boxers.

He gasped and whined, grabbing onto my hair harder. "P-please. Dun play this wi' me."

"I'm not playing anything." I shunted up to lay on his stomach, lifting my hips and gently tracing my fingers over his cock. How it felt when it pulsed with need was something I wouldn't forget soon. I pinched a nipple lightly and blinked at him. "You've gotta tell me what you want."

I expected him to be a little more prudent than I was at the moment, so when the words 'Fucking blow me already' came from his mouth I could've come right there. Who was I to deny him? Abandoning the nipple, my mouth seemed to find his cock on its own accord, mouthing the area a few final times before pulling down his underwear. With my teeth. That was another feat I hadn't expected, seeing as the black boxers were pretty tight around his hips. I forgot about that, though, when I saw what they'd been hiding. His cock wasn't the longest, but it was pretty damned thick, almost purple with how erect he was. The head wept with pre-cum, glistening in a way I'd never before considered attractive. Why did Kurosaki ever wear pants? Why couldn't he walk around like this every day for the whole world to see? Then again, that would mean people other than me would see him; that was not something I could handle.

Where I would've normally felt fear, I felt nothing but excitement. That was a sign that I should be doing less thinking and more sucking. Grabbing the base of his erection, I tongued at the span of skin; moaned at the salty taste. It still _tasted _like Kurosaki. It wasn't that I wanted to get this over with, but instead that I couldn't wait any longer. I took him in my mouth; sucked and swallowed around his cock as though my life depended on it. The deep moans that he released made me moan around him, which in turn made him moan more. A vicious cycle, if you may.

"C-_Ah _can ya_-ngh_... f-finger yerself f-fer - _ohmygod_ - fer me, T-Tōshirō?"

I glanced up at him, slurping once before releasing his cock with a pop to speak. He whined when my mouth left him and tried to push my head down again. I laughed a little and licked at the base, jerking him off with my hand to satisfy him a little.

"You can't ask me a question and still expect me to blow you while I answer. I'm not going on a _Swallow-For-Yes-Lick-For-No_, basis. Not sure that'd work." Instead of answering his question, I pulled my jeans down just enough and slipped two fingers straight into my ass - groaning at the stretch. My cock twitched to attention when I stroked the inside of my ass, crooking my fingers to try and find the spot that would make the small burn go away. It was only a small burn; I'd gotten used to the pain. I sank my lips over his dick again while I worked. Hands began to work across my back, trailing up and down my neck and landing on my waist. It was about then when I finally found my prostate, grunting and bucking up against my fingers and into his hand. I needed more, _more_, but I was too reluctant to let go of his dick. It was hot and heavy in my mouth, and though my jaw hurt I couldn't bring myself to stop sucking. I added another finger and licked around the head of his cock.

"Yer so beautiful, Tōshirō..." he breathed, cupping my cheek with a hand. "So beautiful..."

No-one had ever told me I was beautiful. Nobody but Kurosaki. Sure, Ichimaru had frequently said I was hot, even sexy sometimes, but that made me feel objectified. He didn't know any better, Ichimaru didn't... he claimed he wanted me but he only wanted my body. And any other names I had were slut, queer, faggot, bastard... Nothing quite lived up to being called beautiful by somebody.

I stroked over my prostate a few last times until I wasn't sure my knees could support me any longer and slid off him, plopping back on the bed. My ass clenched painfully around nothingness, looking for something to fill it. I glanced down hungrily at his dick; my ass wanted it. Bad. When I looked up at Kurosaki, he was gazing at me intently. His hair was ruffled, lips swollen from our previous kissing and his eyes were blown with lust.

"How d'ya wanna do this?"

I was touched that he asked. "I figured you'd be on top."

He grinned and shifted so he was sitting cross-legged across from me. "Me too. I meant from behind or facin' each other? Or ya can ride me if ya want... I dun really know how this all works..." He scratched the back of his neck and his cheeks turned red.

I cocked my head and furrowed my eyebrows. "What, you mean..." _That is not possible._ "You're a_ virgin?_"

He held his hands between his legs, suddenly appearing modest and trying to avoid eye contact. "Dun judge me."

I raised a brow and chuckled. Clambering to my knees and shuffling towards him, I took his chin between my fingers and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I'm not judging you, I was just thinking I don't get how _this-_" I gestured to his body "-hasn't gotten laid yet." I leaned forward to whisper in his ear, resting one hand on his shoulder and letting the other hang dangerously close to his crotch. "But you know what?"

He swallowed and shook his head.

I grinned by his ear. "_I'm glad I'll be your first._"

In a sudden moment of complete self-confidence and bravery, I lay back on the bed and spread my legs wide for him. "This is probably the best way. It'd be easier if I was on all fours but I wanna be able to see you." I fisted my cock more to make a show than to reinvigorate it - it didn't need any more attention; I was hard as a rock.

He nodded and moved towards me. I let go of my cock and took his hand, guiding it to his own dick so he could line himself up. I watched the span of muscle across his chest rise and fall, almost quick enough for him to be hyperventilating. His hand was shaking - as was the rest of his body.

I sat up on my elbows. "You nervous?"

"I dun wanna hurt ya," he replied almost instantly. "What if I do it wrong or ya didn't prepare yerself enough? I-I mean we dun have any lube as it is an' there's no condom an- _ohmygod_ what if I have somethin'?"

"Hey, hey!" I leaned up to cup his cheek. I couldn't understand why he was nervous. It's not like the great Kurosaki could do anything wrong. "It's not gonna hurt me and you _don't _have anything. That is not how it works." I lifted my hips a little, just enough to be encouraging. I wanted him to be comfortable with this, but I was getting a little desperate. "Just go on instinct. You'll be great."

He nodded to himself in the kind of _'I can do this_' way a child sets himself up for a climbing frame. I would've chuckled and teased, had the head of his dick not lined up with my entrance at that exact moment and I let out a low moan of pleasure. I wiggled my ass as much as I could without looking too ridiculous, and then he was in me.

It wasn't my fault really, the hiss of delight I let out must have seemed like a hiss of pain, because he was out of me in that very moment; apologising and asking if I was okay. He honestly looked distressed.

"For god's sake..." I reached down and grabbed his dick, finding my hole and moving myself onto it instead. "I told y-_ah_- y-you it wouldn't h-hurt..."

He didn't look convinced. "But you-"

"Trust me." I bucked my hips into him, trying to get the head past the first ring of muscle. "This is happy Tōshirō."

He swallowed visibly. "O-okay. I'll just..."

He inched in slowly at first, his nose screwing up as he did so. Must've been tight. Breaths were coming out of my nose hard and fast. I was in this sort of never-ending Limbo of pleasure and wanting. He was nervous and he didn't want it to hurt, I got that, but right now it was hurting me more that he wasn't _hurrying the fuck up_. I moaned appreciatively when he did decide to move at a reasonable speed, bucking into him as much as the position would allow me. My knees felt weak. I was so fucking _full_, like it was all of him inside me. All his flesh and all his feelings; every part of him was moving into me to become one. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it. Everything just kept moving into me until I felt his balls touch my skin. That was it. It was as close as we were going to get. It didn't feel like enough. Maybe next time we'd try something different, something more intimate-

_Oh yeah._

_There wasn't going to be a next time._

"So... hot... _ohmygod._" The words were barely audible.

He started to shift himself, hooking an elbow around my knee for balance - and by either pure chance or pure talent, the movement somehow found my prostate. I yelped.

"A-"

"Kurosaki if you pull out now I will murder you." I shifted my hips, looking for that electric jerk again.

"Should I-"

"_Movemovemovemove-_"

And he did move.

Slowly, at first - though I wasn't expecting any less. But I thanked the gods because he was stroking across my prostate with every drag, and I was so close already. Cut off chokes and moans were all I could articulate, so I had no way of telling him to go faster. But he did, eventually. His pace increased and he made it clear that he was going to come soon. I hadn't expected it to last long, it never did. Sex wasn't something that lived up to people's expectations. It didn't last for hours and make you faint or cry. That wasn't the point of sex. Hedonists never understood that, so they chase the high. They search forever for the pleasure they will never get. The only pleasure comes from the sentiment. Drunken, wild fucks are never good. They never leave you speechless. They just leave you empty, cold. Alone.

Here and now, I wasn't alone.

* * *

><p>"You said you lived in doghouses."<p>

It was hours later. Hours of comfortable silence and whispered conversations. Hours of nothing but one another. Everything was perfect in this moment; this never-ending rift in time where I was Kurosaki's and he was mine. There was no England and no Hisagi Daichi; no supernatural force trying to keep us apart. We were rolled up in a plush duvet on a plush bed with plush pillows, bathing in the warm afterglow of sex and one another. No phones had rung to tell us of our departure. My parents weren't back, maybe they never would be. Karma was on our side, in this moment.

"When?"

"When I ate with your family. You and Hisagi said you lived in doghouses."

His arm was hanging off the bed, the other thrown loosely around my frame; my frame which was curled into his side and tracing patterns over his torso. He reached up to scrub a hand across his face. He really looked like a wreck; he needed to sleep.

"Ya remembered that?"

I nodded. "It just got me thinking..."

He glanced at me, trying to find the eye contact I wouldn't give him. I really was warm in his side. I wasn't sure why I'd brought it up. I'd ruined the moment. That notion made my eyes well up. The perfect bubble we'd been surrounded in had effectively burst, removing us from the brightly coloured world we'd created and instead showing us nothing but cold, grey reality. He was leaving. I would be alone. Nothing but my hand and Ichimaru Gin to keep me company. That was what made the tears slip. I didn't want to go back to Ichimaru, selling myself for drugs to try and forget the only good thing which had happened to me. I wasn't sure if either Kurosaki or myself would forgive me if that happened.

"Hey, look a' me. C'mon." He tilted my head up so I could look at him. "Sometimes we joke abou' tha' kinda thing. It's easier tha' way."

I sniffed once. "Doesn't seem like a good thing to joke about."

He rolled back onto the pillow and blew out an amused breath. "No, guess not."

I expected silence to ensue, but he continued to speak. "They were more like sheds, but us food came in dogbowls. S'why we called 'em doghouses."

I nodded but didn't reply. I didn't want to know anymore. Well, that's a lie. I did want to know. Just not now. I needed my last few hours of denial. "New topic."

Pause. "We could 'ave kids."

_Oh._

"You're forgetting that neither of us has a uterus."

"I mean it." He rolled back over to look at me. "Could get a surrogate or summet. I shoulda thoughta this through before now..."

My chest began to ache in a longing for him. He was right there, right in front of me and right in my grasp, yet he'd never felt further away. "Or not at all."

He raised a brow. "What, ya dun wan' tha'?"

I curled in on myself. Of course I wanted that. I'd always hated kids, hated how slap-happy they all were, but two little Kurosaki's running around the house wouldn't exactly go amiss. I could handle the snot and the sick if they came from Kurosaki's children. But this wasn't fair. He couldn't ask this of me. "I do. But we can't have it. You're leaving."

He rubbed a hand up and down my bicep. I tried to savour the feeling. My body was in a state of denial - it wouldn't accept these touches as the last it would get. It wouldn't appreciate them as the final parting ministrations.

"It dunt mean we can' dream." He turned his head to look at the ceiling, still stroking my arm and body still facing me. "We could get outta here, go live in 'country or somethin'. We woul'nt hafta worry about this place anymore, or worry about Daichi or nowt."

"Kurosaki..."

"We'd jus' 'ave one kid an' we'd spoil 'em rotten. I'd prob'ly be the fun dad an' you'd be the one who always said 'No more sweets'. An' we'd get 'em a dog, or a cat, or summet like that. Maybe a collie? One that'd run aroun' 'garden and keep th'kid busy."

My eyes were welling up. It all sounded so perfect. It was all that I wanted. "Please..."

"Ya woul'nt hafta work either. I'll graduate an' be a lawyer or summet that pays good, an' you could do whatever ya want. I'd pay for anythin' ya wanted. We could live in a mansion or buy a boat or do somethin' an' when it's legal I'll marry-"

"_Stop_, please..."

He did stop. He watched me and saw the tears sliding down my face, the tears that weren't stopping. I tried to rub them away with my forearm, but more kept coming. I could taste the saline on my lips, could hear them dripping onto the duvet. Everything hurt now. My ass was still hurting, my head was hurting; my _heart _felt like it was being torn in two. Why couldn't we have all that? Why did he have to go? He was leaving me behind to go live in fucking _England _of all places. England where there were thousands of miles separating us, England where he couldn't stop me from relapsing.

"Please... I can't take it."

He leaned over and kissed my cheek, seeming unperturbed by my sobs. "Ya know what'll make me stop?"

I just blinked at him.

He grinned and stroked a thumb under my eye, swiping some of the tears away. "Well first, I wantcha to quit wi' this _Kurosaki _business. It's been... what, over a year since we met? Think we're on first name terms now, dontcha?"

I swallowed and nodded. "Ichigo." I could handle that. I'd remember him by his first name. I'd remember him as the first person who I ever called by his first name. "And second, _Ichigo?_" It felt good to say it.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to my cheek, and another sloppy kiss to my lips. "I wan' ya to tell me ya love me. Cause I love ya, Tōshirō. I love ya more than ya can imagine."

And there it was. This was the moment this entire relationship we had was leading up to. Everything I'd known, everything I'd been taught would be thrown away as soon as I mentioned those words. I'd always run away from people, run like a lamb from the slaughter; run because people were only there to hurt you, never to help you. People were hedonistic and sadistic and only did the things that would please them. Everyone else were worms for them to crush on their way. Putting my heart out there reduced me to dust, he could easily waft me away and I would have no say in the matter. He was the person who could break me, and break me he would. He would hurt me more than the bullies had or Ichimaru had or my _father _had... Three words; they were so difficult to say. We were each other's, that much was clear, but articulating the possession of one another made it seem heavier, more planned than accidental. But then again, may as well tell the only person I cared for that I did.

I nuzzled into his shoulder, my body finally catching up and realising this would be the last time. "I love you, Kurosaki Ichigo. I love you_ so much_."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Happy End of Story!<strong>_

_**I know it doesn't seem like much of an end, but there will be an epilogue, don't worry. But I don't care what you said, I will be updating **_**Shooter **_**next. I miss that little fic.**_

_**Thank you for reading this story of mine! Somehow, I thought I would cram this entire thing into one reasonably sized one-shot, 10,000 words or so. I have a warped sense of how long things take to express. **_

**Suomalainen-Sisu, **_**happy birthday! Yes, this was from almost a year ago but I got it done eventually~ **_

_**Good day, folks!**_


	5. Epilogue

_**God, all my stories are finishing and it's making me quite sad. I'm actually very much fond of this story, it surprises me. My reading and writing preferences have changed a lot since I wrote this last so I'm very sorry if it turns out a lot different to the rest of the story, but I will try my hardest to be consistent. **_

_**(I was really tempted to go incredibly Yorkshire with Ichigo here, but when I read it back I realised that not even a Yorkshire person would understand it so I toned it down a little ^^;)**_

_**In other news, I will be going on holiday next week so won't be able to answer to replies.**_

_**The song is 'I Was Here' by Beyonce.**_

_**Onwards to the epilogue!**_

* * *

><p><em>I wanna say I lived each day until I die<em>

_And know that I meant something in somebody's life._

_The hearts I have touched will be the proof that I leave;_

_That I made a difference and this world will see_

_I was here…_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Momentary Delusions: Epilogue<strong>_

* * *

><p>Everything about the day when the Kurosakis were set to move house was a confusing, contradictory blur. On the one hand, I was most definitely sad. Sad didn't even begin to cut it; I was tumbling into a pit of misery as a feather falls to the ground, as Ethan twirls and dances. With every box loaded into the moving truck, a piece of my soul went with it until the house was nearly empty and so was my heart. On the other hand, I could pretend. I spent a lot of the day pretending. I pretended it was me and Kurosaki leaving, that we were heading for greener pastures and it was our house we were leaving behind. Stolen kisses in cupboards and covert gropes behind family made it all seem so domestic, so honeymoon stage that when I finally remembered I was still stuck in this greying town a new weight of despair crushed my entire body.<p>

They were leaving behind all the furniture, as Kurosaki-san had considered it too _American _for his British tastes. Ichigo had complained (he very frequently expressed his affection towards the comfort of his bed), but eventually relented with the promise of a new bookcase. But it left the house feeling very empty. All the cabinets and chairs were there… but there were no belongings. All of the pictures had been taken down, every vase and trinket removed from the mantel and the window ledge… and it seemed more like a house than a home. Which was disconcerting.

The last thing to pack was Ichigo's room. One by one we packed miscellany into cardboard boxes and took down posters of bands he'd introduced to me and ones I'd introduced to him. He laughed as I grappled with the duvet, eventually conceding defeat and chasing him across the room as a blanketed ghost. I found an old pirate's hat in the back of his wardrobe, tipped out the contents of a packed box, sat him down in it, balanced the hat on his head and manufactured a ship out of a broom and pillowcase. Ichigo shuffled around the room, finding new 'booty' and stuffing it into more boxes to take back to the 'mother ship'. When the room was nearly bare, Ichigo insisted we play _Hide-and-Seek_ - a difficult feat when the only place to hide was the empty wardrobe, resulting in rounds lasting no more than two seconds. Ultimately, the room was cleared and felt like a blank canvas, the only colour being the maroon walls and Ichigo's hair.

"'ow long did we tek?"

"Two and a half hours."

"Me room wa'n't _that _full, were it?"

"No, but you were a pirate for most of it which probably slowed our progress down."

Ichigo turned to me, a smile of many emotions adorning his face. "Aye, a pirate's gotta tek 'is time when 'e's plunderin'." He laced his fingers through mine, his other hand resting on my hip.

I didn't really laugh, but let the air rush out of my nose a little faster than normal. "I can't say I'm too familiar with the pirate code."

Ichigo smiled. "I'mma pretty great pirate, I'll teacha, dun ya worry." He then ducked down and gave me a chaste kiss. His lips lingered at mine for a second too long, almost nervous, before he pulled back. "Ya gonna help me tek these boxes down or is this big pirate gonna hafta do all th'work?"

I raised a brow and a corner of my mouth. "Ooh, I shouldn't think a manly pirate like yourself would need help with heavy lifting!" I nudged a box towards him with my toe.

His grin immediately fell and the largest puppy-dog eyes possible appeared on his face. "I lied, I'm no pirate. Please help me."

_Jesus Christ, I was going to miss this boy. _Not allowing myself to succumb to the inevitable grief, I leaned down and picked up the heaviest box under one arm and cradled another two beneath the other. Ichigo didn't even raise a brow - he knew about my hidden strength.

"No, you're just a Yorkshireman."

* * *

><p>Stacking each of the boxes into the removal van was a sombre few minutes. It was like a very grave assembly line where the packages were passed from person-to-person until they reached Ichigo, who was stood inside the truck, slotting everything into place. The last box was squeezed into a gap where it shouldn't fit, and Ichigo jumped down, looking quite impressed with his handiwork. He turned to his father, sisters and brother and gave each of them a wide grin.<p>

"Awright, we gettin' this show on th'road?"

Karin gave an unenthused nod, both Yuzu and Hisagi grinned zealously and Kurosaki-san near-jumped into the air in delight. I felt oddly out of place. I felt accepted in this family, but this wasn't a time where I should be there. This was their move; I was just an innocent bystander. I didn't have a place at this scene.

"Well, you guys should go. It's a long trip to the airport and then some." I smiled contritely at all of them. "I hope you all have a safe trip."

I turned, hoping to get as far away as I could and drink myself into oblivion (though I wasn't going to; I'd promised Ichigo), when a firm hand grabbed my upper arm and yanked me back.

"Now what the 'ell kinda goodbye is that?!" Hisagi pulled me into a deep hug, one where his arms seemed to encircle me entirely and reminded me of my tiny frame. It wasn't my usual comfort zone, but I clasped my hands together behind his back because he'd become a good friend to me over the past year or so and it seemed polite to reciprocate his hug. We remained like that for a few surprisingly comfortable seconds until he pulled back and stared at me intently, his hands gripping my arms. "See ya around, kiddo."

I glowered at the nickname and moved away, stepping towards Yuzu and giving her a hug because _what the hell_, I'd already started a trend. She sniffled in my arms, her hands patting my back and nose buried in my neck. When I let go, she was smiling slightly. Karin wasn't really one for hugs, so we shared a good-natured handshake and a nod of the head. I liked Karin. The selfish part of me expected a much grander farewell of intense gesticulating and flailing from Kurosaki-san, but what I got was probably the most solemn thing I'd ever seen the man do. He patted my shoulder and grasped my arm, offering a smile which was both sad and inordinately happy at the same time, something I was fairly sure only that man could accomplish.

"Ya're gonna do good, kid."

And then I came to Ichigo. How the hell was I going to say goodbye to him? The man who had saved me in more ways than one, the person who made me feel complete; the goddamn person who made me watch _Star Trek _and thusly insisted we were _T'hy'la_? Kurosaki Ichigo was the man who made me feel like a kid and like an adult, who gave me the childhood I craved and yet treated me like a man. Words wouldn't describe how I felt about him, so I embraced and kissed him - passionately, but without eroticism. Not quite perfect but as close as I could manage. If I could somehow seep how he made me feel out of my pores I swear the world would be a happy, drugged place from my love. After too long and too soon, our lips parted and his forehead knocked against mine.

"Do ya wanna know another rule o'the pirate code?"

I sniffed with amusement. "Humour me."

"A pirate never leaves a man behind." And with that he broke away and got down on one knee.

_Huh?_

From his shirt pocket he procured a red, velvet box and opened it, revealing the most gorgeous ring I'd ever seen. There was no diamond, no jewel at all; just a silver ring which had been banded together in a kind of plait, engraved with a pattern of leaves.

I might have noticed more about it but I couldn't really focus because _huh?_

"Hitsugaya Tōshirō, you are the motherfucking love of my life and if ya thought I was moving ta England without ya then I don't think I expressed that clearly enough." He shifted on his knee, clearly preparing for a speech. "I'm not gonna pretend ya're perfect, because ya're not. But neither am I so that's no excuse. But we're perfect fer each other. You make me feel whole, Tōshirō, and I dun think I can go away knowin' ya're here and I'm there and we both know the long distance thing won't work because I made ya watch the Notebook. And it's not that it wouldn't work because I dun love ya enough, it's 'cause I love ya too much and I'd ruin meself if ya weren't right by my side. So I wantcha to come to England wi' me and Tōshirō… will you marry me?"

I gaped at him for longer than polite, then glanced up at the grinning family behind him. None looked surprised, only overjoyed and highly amused. I looked back to Ichigo, who was staring at me with all the patience in the world. Well, it was dwindling a bit.

"We c'n buy that house and get that dog, we c'n 'ave kids as well 'cause England just passed their marriage law so it's not like it'd have unmarried parents 'cause that's just harsh. Me Dad's done all the papers, and ya dun need permission 'cause yer technically an adult so ya just need ta sign them. I mean th'movin' papers, not th'marriage ones. Obviously we're gonna have a ceremony 'cause even if ya won't admit it ya'd kinda like at least a small on-"

"_Ichigo _I think ya need ta slow down," Kurosaki-san guffawed and I mentally agreed because _HUH? _"Ya're blowin' th'poor kid's brain!"

Ichigo paused to look at me, giving a little laugh himself. "Ya're right, sorry." He stood up slowly, knees clicking into place, and placed his hands on my hips. It was comforting rather than crude, but I still felt unbelievably naked. "Okay maybe this were a bit of a bombshell ta drop on yer."

"You _think?!_"

"Glad you have your voice back," he chuckled.

I turned to the rest of his family, who were all grinning like the Cheshire cat. "And you all knew about this?"

"Of course!"

"I helped pick out the ring."

"Me Ichigo's all growing up!"

"It's all he'd talk about for weeks."

My brows furrowed and I turned back to him. His eyes were almost sparkling with hope, and if I wasn't so freaked out currently I would have laughed. He wasn't completely confident; there was that hint of fear that I might reject him. But more than anything it was definitely _hope._ He bit his lip encouragingly.

"Ichigo…"

"Ya know, it's too soon." He retracted his hands and began babbling. "It hasn't been long enough fer summet like this. Sorry about that, I get that ya dun want ta-"

"Please shut up." I kissed him once more, and I felt like there had been too many opportunities for perfect last kisses today and I'll be damned if I wasn't going to take them all. He kept trying to speak and I kept shutting him up with my mouth because sometimes that man spoke too much for his own good. "God, of _course _I'll marry you."

Ichigo paused. "Ya will?"

Complete impulse decision but why not? I was feeling lucky. "Not too soon, but yes. Definitely."

"Not lying?"

"Nope."

"Ya're sure?"

"Very much so."

The silence lasted all of two seconds before he exploded; caught me in his arms and whirled me around, his grin stretching inhumanly wide while still managing to latch his mouth onto mine. I kissed back with too much fervour, feeling completely high on glee. I was getting _out_. No more of this place; a completely new country and a completely new family. Said family seemed to erupt into comically loud cheers behind their son, and when I cracked open an eye I swore I even saw Karin tearing up a bit. But the best part was Ichigo. My orange flurry of joy and childishness that never ceased to entertain me and keep me grounded; the man who had somehow broken down every wall but left my heart intact. That man hugged me tightly and deeply before steering me towards our new family like I'd never met them before, and for once I was happy to accept their congratulations and celebrations. And I _was _happy. Well and truly.

Because I wasn't living a momentary delusion anymore.

* * *

><p><em><strong>And that's it! I know it was short but I didn't want to drag it out. It didn't seem necessary.<strong>_

_**Thank you everyone who has read this or reviewed it. It has been a pleasure.**_


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